Generations: Dooku
by mtfrosty
Summary: First in a new series! Character study... discover the Jedi that Yoda describes as a "shadow. Slippery, subtle, and clever... and yet the boy has reached his heart somehow and he knows that he'll never be free of that soft grip." Collection of one-shots from the life of one Jedi Master Dooku/Darth Tyranus...
1. Chapter 1

_Summary:_ First in a new series, like the other summary said. It's a series written from Yoda's perspective that will focus on a number of different Jedi (this one is obviously focusing on Dooku). Each one will be a collection of one shots from that Jedi's life as Yoda watches them grow from a youngling into an adult. These are meant as character studies, and as such the chapters may be shorter than usual and pretty introspective. And yes, these are a result of my inability to find a plot and stick with it... ;) I have been working on these in between homework assignments, though, so I've already got a few chapters written! Expect updates once every one or two weeks (every week to start!).

_Disclaimer:_ Felt I should write one since I haven't in a while... characters belong to the big man, but I claim the story! On a different note, Yoda is Dooku's master in this story, and I'm using the name 'Yan' for Dooku's first name. It's technically a fan-made name, but I think it fits and so I'm gonna use it. I mention Yoda as his master since Yoda wasn't technically Dooku's actual master; that's the relationship in this fic, though.

Again, this is a character study hoping to delve deeper into who Dooku is, what made him who he is, and how he became a Sith. It's also a study into Yoda as well, perhaps more so than it is into Dooku... anyways, hope you guys enjoy! :)

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A shadow. Slippery, subtle, and clever. The boy is utterly _drenched_ in the Force... and yet Yoda wonders at the nature of it. The shadow, that is. The Force is different with this one, somewhere in between the two contrasting sides. Here, in the presence of so many other light-siders, the boy almost feels dark.

And then Yan smiles at him, a grin that reveals three missing teeth - he lost them all within a week - and the ancient master melts at the sight. He lets a soft sigh escape him, silently admonishing his weakness for children. Particularly _this_ child. The boy has reached his heart somehow and he knows that he'll never be free of that soft grip.

As if somehow sensing this unknown secret, Yan lets out a satisfied giggle and runs over to the wizened old troll, stumbling as he tries to stop. Yoda watches, both amused and concerned, as the four-year-old promptly face-plants right at his feet.

He twists his gnarled stick into the mud, humming softly. "Okay are you, young one?"

A muddied mop of dark hair lifts a little to reveal that toothless grin once more, and the soft grip grows stronger around his heart. The Force whispers a warning and slithers its way around the boy, a shadowy current that raises only questions and gives no answers.

"Master Yoatha!" the boy fairly squeals, his delight completely misplaced among the unseen shadows. "I lost another toof!"

Yoda laughs, both acknowledging and ignoring the Force's warning in one fell swoop. "So you have."

The Jedi master listens once more, but the Force is silent now, and all he hears are Yan's exuberant shouts as he runs towards the other younglings, apparently satisfied with Yoda's gentle agreement.

The boy is special. Yoda knows this, both from the way his heart twists at every smile Yan sends his way, and also from the unforeseeable future surrounding him. It's a shadow, and Yoda wonders at the nature of it.

He wonders whether it will end in peace or pain. He wonders if the boy is a shadow as well...

But the answer doesn't matter, not in the current moment. All Yoda knows is that the toddler that's teetering around the other children in graceless, loopy circles has just become a permanent fixture in what remains of his long life.

And he's okay with that, shadow or not.

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_Like I said: short. Next one's longer! ;)_

_Please review!_


	2. Chapter 2

The word 'poise' comes to mind at the beginning of every single day, every time Yoda watches Yan pour the morning tea. His padawan is the perfect picture of confidence and grace, serenity mixing with power.

And Yan _is_ powerful. Yoda wonders if the boy knows it yet. He thinks not, simply for the way Yan is always seeking to impress and constantly brooding upon every failure.

"Tense, you are," he observes before taking a slow sip of the tea that Yan has set before him. The taste sends a shiver of pleasure through his little frame. A perfect blend of sweet spices and bitter gnute water. His padawan has learned the art of tea-making well...

Seemingly ignorant of the silent thanks that Yoda has sent him over the bond, Yan shuffles a bit and looks away. "No, master. I'm tired is all."

Yoda sets the tea down, slightly irked that he's been forced to forego yet another peaceful morning... but his padawan is far more important than his own wants. He settles back and stares steadily at the lad. "A question, it was not."

The dark-haired youth flicks dark eyes to him once more. "Why won't you let me enter the tournament, master?"

Ah, so it is that again. Yoda is no fool; he does not miss the pride that is building up around a slowly-growing ego. A 'poised' ego, yes, but an ego nonetheless. It is a fire just waiting to be fanned.

"This conversation, yesterday we had," he answers, squinting a little. The Force has suddenly grown a shade colder. "Too prideful, you are. Think yourself above them, you do."

He never was one to mince words, and with a selectively ignorant padawan he is not about to change it now. He watches as Yan's eyes narrow slightly. Perhaps the boy _does_ know how much power is running through his veins. "All due respect, master... but I _am_ above them. I've excelled in all of my courses. I'm leagues above their level of mastery. Master, I would _school_ them."

Yoda has to agree, and he _is_ proud of the boy for how much he's achieved at such a young age. And yet...

"Different is your Force, young one?" he questions, reaching for his tea once more. He takes a lazy sip, letting the hot nectar soothe his throat.

His padawan's brow furrows. "Different, master? Well, no. I don't suppose so..."

"Stronger?" he inquires.

Yan shakes his head, his black braid whipping back and forth. "No, master."

"Brighter?"

"No... master, why do you ask? I already know this."

And therein lay the issue. Yoda smiles gently. "Do you, padawan?"

The boy finally reaches for his own tea and takes a tentative seat across from him. "Yes, master."

"Hmph," Yoda huffs, taking another sip. "Know, you do. But believe it, you do not. Serve the same Force, all Jedi do, Yan. Serve this family, you shall, and usurp them, you shall not."

Yan answers with something of a forced smile, and Yoda senses a shadow yet again.

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_Thanks for reading! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

Is he shocked when the blade levels itself near his palpitating chest? Somewhat. Is he disappointed that he has to yield? Well yes, of course; no true warrior likes losing... Does he learn from his defeat? It's been centuries and he still has much to learn, so yes. Always. Yoda always learns.

Is he proud? Regretfully so... at first. And then the regret is gone because he loves this child, and secretly he has always ignored that bit about attachment. Wisdom follows old age, and he knows now (has known for some time) that this part of life, bonding with someone else, is not wrong.

Is he concerned?

Yes.

This accomplished, exceedingly skilled teenager has no semblance of humility whatsoever. And the blade still hovers close enough that Yoda still feels its heat. The soft emerald light beside him vanishes as the old master allows the blade to retreat into the hilt, and he flicks his matching eyes up to his padawan's face. "Yield, I do, padawan. Finished, we are."

Something flickers in those dark eyes, then. Something Yoda has trouble identifying. For a brief moment, he's tempted to liken it to a broiling thunderhead, but he dismisses the thought the second it dissipates and Yan's blade is shrinking away. Yoda hops lightly to his feet and summons his stick to a gnarled hand, still staring at the boy.

Yan smirks a bit. "Sorry, master. I couldn't help but bask in my hard-earned victory."

"Hmph," Yoda grunts, calling his stick over and using it to pull himself to his feet. The Force has sustained him for many, many years and yet there are some things (like aching joints) that are apparently inevitable. He doesn't fault the Force any. "Hard-earned, yes. Very skilled, you have become, young one. Proud of you, I am."

Yan actually beams for a moment. The expression is genuine, and Yoda feels a part of himself melt at the sight. He hates the fact that it will only last for just that, a moment. "But too much pride in yourself, you have," he continues.

The grin on his young protégé's face falters, and then slips away as if it had never been there. "No, master," Yan stutters, looking away. "It's not pride... it's satisfaction. Fulfillment. Success. Am I not allowed to be happy over that?"

The kid sounds defeated all of a sudden, and both of them realize that no victory was won here.

Yoda tilts his head, studying the boy with gentle eyes. "Happy, you are?" he asks without really asking. Both of them know this as well.

Despite the fact, young Dooku nods. A ghost of his previous smile flits across his expressive features. Expressive only to Yoda. This boy who is born of noble blood, this boy who appears to epitomize the very definition of 'elegance', is an open book to the ancient master. Cold and stoic he may appear to all others, but to Yoda he is completely human. And hurting.

Yoda doesn't know why.

"Yes. Yes I am," Yan agrees. "Mostly happy. I know that pride in oneself is wrong, master, but the part of me that isn't happy _does_ feel a bit of pride. Am I not allowed even a little?"

The Force attempts to warn him; Yoda can feel it. Can _hear _it, really. The shadow will grow if he is not careful, here. But even he can't bring himself to break such a beautiful spirit. _Force forgive me..._

He offers his own version of a smirk. All of the younglings might have been frightened by such an expression crossing his wrinkled face, but Yan's ghost of a smile only grows. "I suppose you are," he confesses, knowing that he's just made a terrible mistake. "But let it blossom, you should not."

The grin remains on the boy's face, and the two of them share a rare moment together. One in which both recognize the attempt of the other to understand.

"I understand, master," Yan says.

Yoda nods and smiles, continuing to try. "Good. Supper, we should eat."

A lighthearted chuckle echoes through the small room and Yoda feels his heart jump a little. For a second, there was a brief flicker of light there...

"But _I'm_ cooking today."

"Nonsense," he huffs, hobbling towards the door. "A fine cook, I am."

"If you're trying to build up my immune system to withstand the most potent of toxins, then I guess you are," his padawan quips, brushing by without the least bit of courtesy.

"Cheeky brat, you are," Yoda mutters.

Yan only laughs, and the ancient master basks in the warm light that follows.

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_I know they're short... but hopefully enjoyable! :) Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

Coruscant is a busy place. Most would politely disagree with him and tell him it's not busy, but that instead it's hectic and the _epitome_ of chaos. Speeders zip between the planet's skyline, multiple layers deep. The air smells of ion fumes accompanied by the dense, musky odor that only a high population can create. And at the deepest levels of Coruscant's underworld, hundreds of death sticks pass between dealers and the cantinas practically vibrate with all of the business they're receiving. Millions of people commute back and forth. Most have a job they're trying to get to, many are headed towards lunch or are in search of an afternoon snack, and a few are simply out enjoying the sights.

Coruscant is a busy place. Yes, only busy... Yoda has seen busier in his long life. This is what he often tells those who try to argue the point, but he has learned to only tell them once and then let them believe what they wish.

Perhaps he is one of only a rare few who are capable of finding solitude in such a place. This perspective (_truth_, really) affords him the privilege of meditating where others would never try to meditate. This is what he is attempting to do on the lower roof of the Temple, the one that stretches all the way around with only a couple of breaks. It's a flat, smooth surface with a nice view of the city and a slight breeze.

"It's cold and hard, master."

It is an _attempt_, to be sure... his padawan seems to have a slightly _skewed_ perspective of what he himself sees in the place. He pats the surface next to him, his rough claws clacking against the duracrete. 'Cold and hard' is one view, he supposes.

He prefers 'smooth and open'.

"Sit, padawan. Tell me what you see, you should."

The teenager huffs a bit, though it's a quiet, dignified huff. Yan would never allow his irritation to be so obvious.

"Tell you what I see..." his padawan echoes, inserting the slightest current of sarcasm.

Yoda hears it and merely smiles, gesturing towards the towering buildings and layers of traffic.

Yan sends him a wry look and then studies the scene. The young man actually gives it a sincere effort, something that Yoda has always appreciated. Though easily annoyed and possessive of a somewhat haughty personality, Yan does have a keen sense of perception. He is intelligent, bordering on brilliant, and Yoda has had many philosophical conversations with him about the simplest of things.

"Well, master, I see a lot of speeders, far too many people wasting time being in a rush, a dark pit at the bottom, and a toxic cloud of fumes hanging over the entire skyline."

Ah, yes. His snarky little brat also has been infected with a strong case of pessimism. "Anything good, do you see?"

This earns him a smirk, but another thoughtful pause follows. "Life," he says after a bit. "I see life, master."

One of Yoda's ears lifts a little as he turns his head. "Sound disappointed, you do."

Yan sighs. "Life is good because of what it is without everything around it. But this place is... is... _heavy_."

Cold, hard, boring, too windy, too noisy... Yoda has heard many descriptions of this place. His padawan has just offered something new. "Heavy?" he repeats, mulling it over silently. He wonders what, exactly, his boy is describing. Something tells him it's more than just the view.

Yan doesn't look at him, but he does finally take a seat at his side. The motion is quiet, graceful, and oddly eager. Yoda has many words to describe his padawan, but 'eager' has never entered the discussion. Yan is slow to trust, slow to answer (at least without hiding behind his polished wit), and slow to reveal anything of himself. He is measured, calculating, and cautious.

Never eager.

"It's cold and hard. I wasn't talking about the surface, master. This place feels cold and it's all sharp edges and rigid barriers. And that view?" He carelessly throws a hand in the direction of the rush-hour traffic. "It's heavy, smothered in shadows."

Shadows. _Yes_, he silently agrees. _I feel them too, young one._ "Speak of the Temple, you do," he states.

Now there is hesitation. Yan may not agree with much of what Yoda has taught him (Yoda knows this to be true), but he has always been respectful. Even now he can tell the boy is trying hard to speak politely.

His padawan turns and finally looks at him directly. It's both a challenge and a call for help. "I don't feel like I belong here, master. I do fine in my classes, but it's just so restricting."

Yoda's heard this before from other initiates, other padawans, and even a knight or two. But never from someone who is this close. It's unsettling.

He tries to hide his uneasiness by flicking his gaze back towards the city, but the view is no longer what it was and he can still feel Yan's perceptive eyes burning into him. "Feel restricted in what ways, do you?"

The searing heat fades away as the boy follows his gaze. "It's hard to say, master," he mutters, almost too low to hear. "I'm hardly allowed to _feel_."

Yoda blinks. What should have been a statement bordering on furious had come out hollow and somewhat dry. He spares Yan a quick glance and then sighs. Perhaps it's simply a phase. _This too shall pass..._ The old adage brings him no comfort, however, and he scoots a little closer. If nothing else (he has no words right now) he can provide a steady presence to lean on.

"Talk more, we will," he promises. And they will; he cares too much for this boy to leave him feeling so lost.

Yan looks at him again. "When?"

Yoda lets a heavy breath out through his teeth, suddenly feeling exhausted. He won't' hide, though. Not from him. "Talk, we will, when have an answer, I do," he quietly replies.

He feels unexpectedly warm when his padawan offers him a small smile. Against his better judgement, he smiles back, confused as to why they are smiling after such a discussion.

Yan shatters his confusion with just a few words. "I thought I was the only one."

Ah, yes. He forgets sometimes how short life is for humans, and how long some lessons take to learn. He reaches out and gently pats his padawan's arm. "Alone in your struggles, you will never be. Common, they are, but easily defeated, they are not."

The boy gives him a wry smirk. "Thanks... I think."

The attack is swift, and entirely expected, and Yoda frowns at the fact that he's become so predictable to this child. His gimer stick hits empty air and Yan is gracefully retreating even as he chuckles. "Too slow, master..."

"Hmph," he snorts, effecting a wrinkly pout.

But the boy is smiling, and his eyes are smiling, and the bond feels a little warmer, and the shadows are gone for a moment, and Yoda wishes he can stay in this moment for just a while longer.

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_For those who are keeping up with this story, I apologize for the wait. The days were flying by for a while. :)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

"Ready are you, young one?"

"I've _been_ ready, master! _You're_ the one holding us up!"

Yoda smirks, but he doesn't quicken his pace as he finishes up some last-minute entries into the mission records and double-checks his list of things to bring and things to do before they leave. He does so simply to irritate his young charge and to test the boy's patience.

He doesn't need to, he knows. Yan possesses much patience, and the outburst only came when asked and was accompanied by a wry spark twinkling in those brown eyes.

"Rush me, you must not," he chides, somewhat ruefully. "Old, I am. Only so fast can these joints move."

"If only that were true during 'saber practice," Yan retorts, daring to glance down at him.

Yoda only chuckles a little and waves dismissively. "When old, you are, every opportunity to rest, you will take."

"I doubt it."

"Hmph. Perhaps centuries, you do not have, but rest you still should."

"War doesn't rest, criminals don't rest, darkness doesn't rest, so why should I? I can rest when I'm dead." Yan says this so matter-of-factly that Yoda knows he's not trying to be pessimistic or sarcastic.

It's simply a truth that his padawan believes.

Much wisdom and much intelligence his boy truly does possess, and yet he's so blind in so many ways. Yoda doesn't rebuke him for being pessimistic or for believing such things. Instead, he simply offers his own perspective. "Mmm... too much work, that is. Enjoy the light, Yoda cannot, when chasing the darkness, he is."

There is no immediate reply, which means that his padawan is considering the words. Yoda smiles as he finishes his pre-leave report, and he turns with a gentle tap of his gimer stick. "Ready, I am. Pick out a ship, did you?"

Yan is silent for a moment, obviously still thinking. "Yes. Number 3447C. A grey one."

Short, precise answer. Still thinking. "Follow you, I will."

To the hangar, is what he'd literally meant. But young Dooku is of the philosophical sort and has an eye for symbolism, even where there isn't any. This time, however, Yoda intended for there to be two meanings, because Yan is a brilliant Jedi that casts an unmistakably dark shadow.

This boy will always chase the darkness. He knows that. What he doesn't know is what the cost of that will be, and so right now he does the only thing he can do. He offers the boy a promise.

And Yan doesn't disappoint. His dark eyes flick down to Yoda's own and stay there, unwavering in their intensity. "Will you?" he asks, quietly so that only Yoda can hear him.

The ancient master only smiles. "Of course. A stranger to darkness, I am not. Follow you all over the galaxy, I will. Once you are finished, rest I will."

Yan's mouth twitches in something of a smile. "Are you sure you'll be able to rest once I'm finished?"

What that means, Yoda truly doesn't want to know. He wholeheartedly believes in foreshadowing; he's seen his fair share of it over the years, and everything he's seen in regards to this young man, this boy, this _child_ is leading somewhere dark. It's cruel, he sometimes thinks, the way some are destined for pain and destruction.

But he's been wrong before. Sometimes things can change rather quickly, and he hopes with everything in him that he's wrong this time. But if not, he will endure. He always has.

"Much darkness, have I seen," Yoda murmurs. "And much rest, have I had. Chase the darkness if you must. Chase you, I always will."

The smile that blossoms on his padawan's face is worth the knot that's suddenly tied itself in his stomach. "Thanks, master..." And his boy means that 'thank you'. It's genuine. A rarity that Yoda will always cherish. One dark brow shoots up soon after as Yan fixes him with a 'look'. "It could be a long chase, you know."

The knot tightens, but Yoda only smiles and gestures to the long hallway that leads to places unknown. He knows that Yan is excited even if he doesn't show it as much as other padawans. The first mission is always exciting. "Then begin, we should, hmm?" he quips.

Yan laughs. "Yes, we probably should." And then he's off, quick enough to show his excitement and nervous energy, but not so quick that Yoda can't keep up. Politely considerate. That's his padawan.

And perhaps a bit attached, as well, but Yoda knows he'll never hear it from the boy himself. The knot loosens a little at the thought, though. Maybe Yan will never say it simply because he knows he doesn't need to.

Yes. Attached, this boy is. But attachment is not a one-way thing, and as Yan politely hurries down the hallway, as he chases after the ever-churning darkness, Yoda does exactly what he said he would do (no matter the hurt to come, no matter the cost).

He follows.

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_Thanks for continuing to read my stories! Hope you guys enjoy them! :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_Longest one so far! Enjoy! :)_

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"That creature is entirely out of place, here."

Yoda follows Yan's gaze with a soft hum. Their point of interest is a giant insect of sorts. Spider-like in its appearance, it culminates in a small head that possesses rows of razor sharp teeth in a powerful jaw. Among the lush vegetation, colorful fauna, and somewhat globular wildlife of Felucia, Yoda has to agree with his padawan's assessment. The giant acklay is indeed out of place.

Not surprising since this planet is not its native habitat. "Adapted nicely, it has, hmm?"

Yan huffs, surprisingly put off by something that Yoda deems fairly insignificant. "It's an overgrown pest, master. This place is _alive_ and _warm_, and that thing is... is..." The boy gives a flippant wave of his hand. "Cold. Sinister."

This time Yoda sighs. It's tiring, sometimes, the way that Yan can make something so mundane into something so profoundly, yet mistakenly, important. It's an acklay, for Force's sake. "Perhaps see you the same way, it does," Yoda offers, but it's said with an edge to it. While a different perspective is what he was going for, what comes out is a straight-up argument.

So be it. Even centuries-old Jedi masters have their limits, and slogging through a damp, sticky, gnat-infested, heavily forested planet is _not_ something he is currently enjoying. He stares rather forlornly at his gimer stick. It's gained a few pounds worth of slimy mud over the last few hours (in a few more it will resemble a discolored eel out of water...).

"Doubtful," Yan retorts. "Its eyes are too small to see me at this distance."

"No need to see you, it has, when smell you and hear you, it can," Yoda points out as he yanks his stick from the earth's firm grip (it _squelches_ in protest). He's not aiming for caution or subtlety when he plants it into the muck once more (_plopk!)._

Right on cue, the beast lets out a vicious roar and begins to scuttle its way in their direction, crashing through trees and uprooting shrubs in its rage.

Yoda wonders if the Force is laughing its fool metaphorical head off right now. "Heard you, it did," he snaps.

Yan glares at him, dark eyes narrowed and flashing. "Maybe it heard you battling with that muck for that Force-forsaken stick of yours!"

Yoda swings. Stick meets shin and Yan lets out a very undignified shriek. The acklay roars. Yoda yanks on his stick but the thrice-forsaken thing won't _budge_...

Blast it.

The acklay's next bellow is cut short as a wall of sheer energy is thrust into it and it careens off to the side, stunned into silence. It makes no move to get up. Yoda shifts, his feet making odd sucking noises as he turns to face his young charge.

The boy is glaring at the offending object which is still plastered to his shin, a glob of greenish, brownish slime holding it in place. "Is this to be a _permanent_ reminder of the value of humility?" he snipes.

For a brief second, Yoda considers leaving the stick there just to teach the boy a much needed lesson, but then he considers how far they still have to walk. He wants his stick. "A reminder it was not," he replies, not able to help the small smile that spreads across his face. "An attempt at pounding a bit of humility directly into you, it was."

Yan snorts a little at this and carefully holds out his leg as his master reaches for it. "You've tried that multiple times, remember? I've got bruises to show for your many attempts."

"Hmph," Yoda huffs, grabbing hold of the stick. "Learn the lesson, you should. Then bruised, you would not be."

"Yes, master," his padawan responds.

Yoda glances up and finds dark eyes twinkling with amusement and he can't help but chuckle softly. "Keep trying, I will," he declares. Then he focuses on his stick, taking a firm hold of it. "Hold still." Without further warning, he yanks, drawing on the force to both keep his grip steady and add a bit of _pull_. The stick rips free and Yoda stares at it, face twisted in what he knows is a frightening grimace.

A large piece of cloth is now residing where Yan's leg used to be. Consequently, his padawan has a nicely shorn hole in his trousers and is once more glaring in his direction. "Mmmm," he hums, more concerned with the dignity of his stick than the dignity of his padawan. "Pitiful, my stick looks."

"Yes, well... nice to know you're concerned about your stick. What about my leg?" Yan whines.

Yoda chuckles, not even sparing his boy's nasty bruise a second glance (Yan doesn't _whine_, and it's rather amusing). "Bruises... heal they do, hmm? Perhaps if hidden, it is not, then consider why you have it, you will." He pauses before resuming his trek. "And whine, you should not. Accomplish nothing, it does."

Yan clears his throat, drawing himself up into a more elegant stance as if he's finally noticing how childish he's becoming. "I was not _whining_, master," he states. "I was merely trying to inform you of your misplaced concern. How am I supposed to walk the rest of the way on _this_?" He gestures emphatically at his discolored shin.

Well, if Yoda is to be honest with himself (and he usually is), then he has to admit that it does look a little painful. But they are on Felucia, and there really is no pressing danger at the moment as long as his padawan doesn't disturb any more cold, sinister acklays, and it's not like a bruise can get infected, and Yoda senses no broken bones, and perhaps if young Dooku is limping and stumbling, then maybe Yoda will be fortunate enough to witness a few ungraceful face-plants, and then maybe this boy will stop being so _stubborn_ about his thrice-blasted, overly-inflated, mistakenly-entitled ego...

Humility. Yes. This will be as fine a lesson as he ever taught, and much more applicable. "Powerful, you are," he replies, turning once more to slog his way through the underbrush. "Perhaps heal it, you should."

He hears Yan huff, but the boy follows him. "Master, you _know_ I haven't had the time for practicing the proper techniques..."

Yoda doesn't even turn around, doesn't even spare the boy a glance, because he's suddenly growing irritated. And _nervous_. Force, he's never seen such stubbornness in one with so much potential, and he can't figure out how to get through...

_He's mine._

Yoda swallows, suddenly numb. The acklay had been all hugs and soft cuddles compared to that voice, that insistent cackle. Yan doesn't understand what _sinister_ really is, yet. He has no idea what Yoda has been hearing or feeling for the past few months... he hides it like he's been doing. But he can't hide the desperation that leaks into his voice.

"If help, you want, then ask for it, you should."

Yan squelches to a halt. "I shouldn't have to ask! _You're_ the one that did this, so you should be the one to fix it! And you _know_ I can't..." The padawan's voice stutters and dies as Yoda wheels on him faster than the muck should allow.

Yoda grinds his stick further into the slop, redirecting his desperate fury into the ground and away from them both. Does the boy truly not _feel_ it?

_Mine, he's mine. Try to reach him... I dare you, master of light. Save him if you can..._

Yoda shivers. Yan probably mistook it for anger, not fear.

_Where is your precious light, you ancient fool? Do you feel lost?_

"Master...?" Yan's voice is no longer as confident as it was, but he is not a coward. His boy does not shrink away from him.

Yoda stares into dark eyes. _Afraid, I am... but never lost._ "Follow you, I said I would, when the darkness, you chase."

Yan did not take that promise lightly, and his padawan falls silent, waiting for him to continue.

"A short chase, it was," he remarks, attempting a smile.

"Master, I don't understand..." Yan says, brow furrowing.

Yoda sighs, drained. "Sinister and sneaky, pride is. Much of this, you have, and trying to rid you of it, I am."

Had his feet not been stuck in the oozing filth, Yan might have shuffled them a bit. "Master, a difference of opinion isn't wrong..."

"A difference of opinion, pride is _not_." Yoda is finished speaking in riddles, in symbolism. Young Dooku specializes in the gray areas, but Yoda has always specialized in the black and white. He's lived too long to acknowledge anything else, and his willingness to dabble in the supposedly gray areas is only due to the human tendency to disregard the cut and dry.

"Pride," he continues, forcing his voice to be level, to be calm, "thinking oneself high, it is, and everyone else low. Help, a proud person does not need, hmm? Learn, a proud person does not, and truly _feel_, a proud person never will. Consumed with yourself, you are, young one. Very concerned for you, I am."

Yan stands there, clearly miserable, but expectedly flushed. He's angry. "I suppose my fractured leg is s testament to your _concern_."

_He doesn't hear you, lightsider..._

Yoda winces, unable to stop the cold creeping up his spine. Pictures. Yan has always learned well through imagery, and perhaps Yoda was too hasty in discarding riddles and metaphors. Huffing slightly in frustration, and mostly in desperation, he narrows his gaze. "If running towards a cliff, you are, and unable to see it, complain about the broken bones, will you, when knock you off course, someone does?"

Yan looks away then, offering a curt nod. He seems to swallow down a retort and then looks back. "Would you help me heal it? It hurts."

_Hear me, he may not... but trying, he is_. Yoda sets his stick aside and reaches for his boy's leg. "Always give you what you want, love does not," he murmurs, catching Yan's eye. "Hurt sometimes, it does."

Yan finally smirks a bit. "Am I to think of your love for me every time you make contact with that thing?"

Yoda only turns his attention to the bruise. His silence is answer enough.

"I guess you don't whack that many people, do you..."

_Only the ones I truly love, padawan._

The 'thank you' is left unsaid, but Yoda feels it in the warm current leaking across their bond. Oddly enough, he hears nothing more from the darkness.

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_Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts... ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

"Master..."

He feels himself tremble. The normally confident voice, always tinged with an undercurrent of polite arrogance, suddenly sounds frail and holds none of its usual volume. Yoda silently curses his short stature and quickly gestures with a gnarled hand, bringing a stool close to the bedside. He hops up, taking a moment to catch his balance and steady the stool.

His green eyes latch onto his padawan's much darker gaze and stay there. Yan is afraid. It's there, obvious in the way that his boy's eyes sweep over Yoda's entire frame, as if making sure that his master is truly there and he's not some apparition or hallucination. He tries to raise a weak arm, but his body doesn't have the strength and all he manages is a slight shifting under the sheets.

Yoda smiles softly and reaches out instead, letting his hand rest on the boy's arm. "Shh, padawan. Here, I am, and going anywhere, I am not."

Yan lets out a breath and seems to relax, but his eyes still stay locked on his master. "I can't feel my legs."

Yoda can't stop his breath from hitching and he knows that the boy notices. Yan notices everything. Despite that, he still attempts a smile. "Peace, young Dooku," he urges. "Wear off, the toxin will. Safe, you are, and continue to rest, you should."

Despite his depleted energy, his padawan still manages to huff in annoyance and the dark eyes finally turn away. "Can you take me home? I don't like it here. Maybe if I was in my own bed..." he trails off with a tired sigh, looking much younger than his fifteen years.

Or perhaps he actually _looks_ his fifteen years for once. Yoda regretfully considers this and suddenly finds himself questioning the Order's philosophy of training from infancy. He's never truly questioned it before, always looking at those being knighted with equal pride in both the former padawan and in the master that trained him or her. Yoda always asks questions, is always curious, but never about this. Never about a tradition that's stood for longer than he's been alive.

He blinks, staring sadly at the teenager in front of him. He never really remembers that Yan is still so young; the boy always acts a decade older than he actually is, but now his youth is showing.

_Home_. Yan had said _home._

Yoda's thoughts change almost instantly and that warm burn he rarely feels sparks to life in his chest. Is that truly what the boy thinks? Of his quarters? _Their_ quarters? Of... of him? "Home?" he echoes, slightly mystified.

Yan's cheeks begin to color and he shifts uncomfortably. "Well, you know, back to your quarters... I might actually be able to sleep there..."

Force smack him if Yoda were ever to witness the boy displaying even the slightest bit of sentimentality. Of _course_ he would immediately downplay the fact that he'd just referred to their quarters as _home_. Yoda wishes Yan wouldn't be embarrassed by such an idea, such a _reality_, but he knows that Yan will never be comfortable with voicing something that sounds so familial. So... attached.

The ancient master smiles slightly at his padawan's sudden discomfort, seeing straight through it to the desperate child beneath. He knows that Yan yearns to be loved and cared for, but he doesn't understand the teen's confounded attempts at thwarting every opportunity that arises for such affections to take place. It's puzzling and more than a little unsettling.

Yoda's tempted to chalk it up to the child's over-inflated pride, but he has a feeling that this time it's something else that's keeping Yan so distanced.

It is an important thing to muse over, to be sure, but now is not the time and Yoda quickly moves his gnarled digits off of Yan's covered arm and hops down from the stool. "Soon, padawan, soon. Move you, I cannot, until the toxin has left your body. Safer here, you are, hm?"

Yan manages to shift, lifting his head high enough so that he can maintain eye contact. "You're staying though, right?"

And now he's pleading. Yan Dooku. _Pleading_.

Yoda's heart constricts even as he smiles fully, just for his boy. To encourage. To reassure. To show that he _cares_. Because even if Yan won't admit to wanting it, Yoda is most definitely going to give it to him.

"Yoda has nowhere else to be," he says, reverting to the third person, wondering suddenly why it is that this particular child brings that out of him less often than so many others. And why is he reverting to it now of all times? Is he that inexperienced with sentimentality as well?

_Yes._

That cold shiver again. He had so foolishly hoped that today he would be mercifully free of it. It halts his steps for a brief second, drawing a concerned look from his padawan.

"Is everything alright, master?"

He so desperately wants to say 'yes' right now. Yan shouldn't be the one asking him such questions, not when he himself is confined to a bed with little to no feeling in his legs. But he can't betray the boy's trust like that, not with the smallest of lies. They used to seem so insignificant.

"No," he answers, barely a whisper. "But it will be."

Yes, he _is_ on unfamiliar ground. Has entered uncharted territory. That blasted, snake-like voice is right and Yoda suddenly feels helplessly lost.

No. Not lost. Not here with his boy. Uncharted territory perhaps, but he's been here for years now. Ever since he chose Yan to train him.

"Can..." the boy pauses, hesitant to go on. Yoda perks an ear and Yan seems to take it as a sign to go on. "Can I help?"

_It's not safe here._

The old Jedi takes a steadying breath and forces his feet to move again, around the bed, crossing to the window. The curtains are heavy, hanging like deep shadows over a source of light that for a moment feels forbidden.

_They'll spurn you for this, Jedi. This is not the way. It's not safe._

So be it. "Safe..." he echoes, carrying on a conversation that he's had for days with a voice he doesn't know. A voice that makes him afraid. "Perhaps not. But _good_, it is."

"Master?"

He glances back and catches Yan's confused gaze, one that holds a touch of worry and maybe even a little fear. "Is something wrong, master?"

_Careful, ancient one. You're teeeeterrrring..._

Yoda shivers again, caught off guard by the unnaturally playful lilt in the normally sinister voice.

The curtains need to go. He reaches forward and grasps the heavy fabric, surprised by the weight of it and the rough feel of it on his already calloused skin. All it would take is a slight nudge with the Force. Minimal effort, really.

"Here, master. I've got it."

The voice is strained, but the soft gust of air is warm as the curtains peel back, seemingly of their own accord. Another glance back confirms that Yan's hand is indeed extended and shaking a little, but his manipulation of the Force is just as elegant as it's always been. So effortless and controlled.

The sun's rays explode into the room, cutting through shadows and dispelling the cold, bathing Yoda in warm relief.

_Very well._

And that. _That_ is a concession. It makes Yoda smile. He's won this round.

"Better?"

Yoda glances at the boy and makes a concession of his own. _Yan_ won this round, not him. "Thank you, padawan."

The boy shrugs, not picking up on the significance of what he's just done. "Of course. But master, it really wasn't so dark in here..."

Yoda summons the stool again and hops up, basking in the warm light. "Darkness often times is not so dark, padawan. But always cold, it is." He pauses, smiling at his boy. "Seeking light, I was not. Wanting warmth, I was."

It's obvious that Yan's attention is no longer on his apparently pitiful situation. Instead, he's greedily sucking up his master's words. "How cold were you, master?"

And here they are again, Yoda muses. Engaging in deep conversations under the guise of simple, insignificant matters. He taps his gimer stick on the stool, interrupting the silence with a sporadic rhythm that's simply an outflow of his own hesitancy to answer.

He meets his padawan's gaze. No, this isn't safe... but maybe it could be. Eventually. "Strong enough to find warmth, I was not." Not exactly an answer, but with Yan straight answers were rarely required.

Rather than disappoint the boy, his words cause him to smile. "You're welcome."

Yoda blinks, not sure he'd heard correctly. It's not the words that surprise him. There was no arrogance there, no hint at superiority of any kind. No _pride_. He's stunned.

"You know, master..." Yan continues, still with that hesitant pace. Uncharted territory. Not safe, but getting there. "Any time you need help, you can just ask..."

The sun is warm and inviting to be sure, but it doesn't go deeper than the surface. It had been enough to chase the cold away, but his boy goes deeper.

For the first time, Yoda dares to hope a little for this young one. Perhaps he is wrong about Yan's future. Perhaps the child isn't destined for darkness and he isn't destined to always be chasing him.

"So long as you do the same," Yoda counters, grasping at threads of light.

There's hesitation again, but then Yan nods, his dark braid dancing behind his ear. "Okay." He shifts deeper into the sheets, burying his face into the soft folds of the pillow. "My legs are tingling."

"Sleep, you should," Yoda advises, barely holding his emotions in check. What is it about this child?

Yan's eyes close, but not before an all-too-familiar smirk lights up his regal features. "I can rest when I'm dead, remember?"

Yoda chuckles a little. "Human frailty requires sleep, young one."

"Old age and lack of stature imply a greater need, do they not?" the boy mutters, snuggling deeper.

"Indeed," Yoda agrees, shifting the sheets tighter with a slight flick of his fingers. "Rest, I will, when safe, you are."

"Thought you said... was 'ready safe," Yan mumbles before his breathing shifts to something deeper and far more steady.

Yoda doesn't respond. Yoda used to think himself safe, but that was centuries earlier when he was first bound by codes and traditions. Safety seems entirely different now, and he's sure that neither of them are there yet.

Eventually, perhaps. As he stares at his boy, sleeping peacefully in a bed that isn't _home_ \- but it is _warm_ \- he decides that he's quite certain he doesn't care about safety. He no longer knows what that is. He just knows that right now that voice isn't pestering him, the sun is exceedingly warm, the room is mercifully quiet, and everything is _good_. Not safe. But _good_.

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_Thanks for reading! Please review if you can spare a few seconds! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

"Makashi."

Yoda blinks, not entirely surprised, but not exactly pleased either. He has watched young Dooku thrive with a blade in his hand for well over six years, and has always known the boy to be something of a traditionalist. Not to mention a perfectionist as well.

No. Yoda is not in favor of Dooku practicing Makashi. Things are growing tenuous in the Senate and distant planets are becoming unsettled. Something is brewing, and should it spark a war, Yoda knows that Makashi will bring many disadvantages in sprawling battles. "An interesting choice, that is," he says, opting for a neutral reply.

Yan sees straight through it, naturally. The youth does not openly frown at him, but his lips thin a bit when he responds. "You disapprove."

Yoda sighs, hopping down from the chair he's perched on. He wanders over to some cupboards, aware that Yan's eyes are following his every move, observing, assessing, and formulating conclusions. It's something his boy has always been good at. Reading others.

A cupboard opens with a wave of his hand, prompting a slightly disgusted sniff to sound from their table. He can't help the small smile that wrinkles his features. "Uncivilized, it may be, but convenient it is when small stature, one has."

"Fair enough." A pause follows, but it doesn't last long. "Why do you not approve, master?"

A small jar of tea hovers smoothly through the air and lands softly in his outstretched hand. Even through the glass he can smell the spicy herbs, both bitter and sweet, that make up his favorite blend. He savors it for a moment before turning to grant full attention to his padawan. "A disadvantage, Makashi is, when fighting in a war, you are."

The boy openly frowns now, his dark eyes glinting with something that's not quite anger. Disdain, perhaps? Yan has begun to take his noble heritage quite seriously and it has begun to hinder the progress Yoda had made in quelling the child's fierce pride. Despite this, Yan does not act on his obvious irritation. Not at first. "War? Did you have a vision, master?"

"Observe the circumstances, I have. Vision, I do not need, when already brewing, war is."

At this, Yan looks down, studying his hands and the surface of the table. "All due respect, master, but if we are going to be fighting in a war, it's most likely decades from now, right?"

"A vision, did _you_ have?" Yoda asks pointedly, though he smiles a little, teasing.

This draws a light smirk from the youth. "I pay attention to politics, master."

"Know this, I do," Yoda says, chuckling. "Now sense, I do, that you have an argument for Makashi."

Yan doesn't hesitate. "It is a classic form, master. You know I'm good with a lightsaber and you know how hard I've worked and studied to get to where I'm at. And you _know_ I don't make decisions without thinking them through."

Yoda snorts lightly and turns away once more, heading for their small boiler, suddenly aching for a good brew of his precious tea. "Tell me what I know, you do not have to, padawan."

"This war, whenever it happens, will be dark."

Yoda stops moving, frozen in time, struck with a deep sense of foreboding. It feels much longer, but it's only a couple of seconds and then he is moving again, measuring out water for the boiler… "Dark, mph. All wars, dark they are. The Force, one does not need, to know this." Surely his padawan was just being symbolic, describing the death and suffering that wars always bring. Surely nothing… deeper. Stronger. More potent.

"I know you sense it, master."

Yan has never lacked for confidence, and Yoda truly despises it at times. Times like this when the youth says whatever he pleases while sugar-coating it with his natural charm and exquisite manners.

Unfortunately, Yan is right. "A darkness in the Force, you speak of, hm? Yes, sense this, I do. Darkness I have felt many times before, young one. New to me, this is not. Something different, you speak of."

He hears the youth stand and tracks the almost imperceptible footfalls until they stop close behind him. Another cupboard opens and he turns to watch, almost ruefully, as Yan very deliberately reaches in with both hands and withdraws two simple mugs, both a dark forest green. "Very civilized, you are," he deadpans.

Yan doesn't smile, though a warm tendril of silent amusement drifts over their bond. From someone of young Dooku's character, it qualifies as genuine laughter.

"I know I haven't really confronted the dark side before, but master… I've sensed it in Senate hearings. The majority of people who attend them are not even mildly Force-sensitive, but there is still a distinct aura of… _darkness_. It's not obvious. It's sneaky. Clever, almost. A bit…" Yan trails off, searching for an apt description. Yoda is surprised he can't find one in his extensive vocabulary.

Well, Yoda is always happy to teach. Even the small things. "Sinister," he provides, carefully eyeing his young charge.

Yan meets his gaze. "Something like that."

They both look away at the same time, Yoda to the boiler, Yan to another cupboard. Sugar is what the boy is after. Yoda has yet to decide if he uses it simply because he hasn't grown out of his sweet tooth or if it's because he can't tolerate the bitterness of the tea. Regardless, Yan has never asked him to stock their place with another blend. He makes do.

"So," he continues, "Makashi, you have chosen, to counter this new darkness."

"It's a serious form, master. I mean no disrespect to the others, but they just aren't as focused. Makashi counters something specific."

"Which is?" Yoda prompts, truly curious.

"Other duelers." A pause. "Force-users, specifically."

And now it comes to a head. The tea is almost forgotten… almost, because Yoda now knows that he absolutely _needs_ something to calm him.

"Speak plainly, padawan," he practically snaps.

The Force is drawn tightly around Yan now, like a thunderhead just _itching_ to toss out a few bolts of lightning just to see what sort of reaction it will draw.

Fittingly, Yan tosses one out. "Sith."

"Sith," he echoes, almost before his boy finishes saying the single, short word. It's a heavy word, one that dredges up memories he would rather forget and emotions that carried him to the breaking point more than once. Yoda has never denied that living centuries has provided him with many, _many_ experiences, not all of them pleasant.

"Yes, Sith," Yan repeats. "This darkness has a personal quality to it, master. It's alive. Sometimes I think I almost _hear_ it…" He trails off, reaching for the water that is now boiling. Unscrewing the lid, Yan reaches into the jar with two fingers and pulls out a pinch of the herbs. He crushes them even more before sprinkling them in his water and setting it aside to steep.

Yoda doesn't miss the barely visible tremor shaking the youth's fingers. "This darkness, young Dooku, is to be refused. Heard it also, I have. Cold it is. Tempting it is. Deadly it is."

The boy lets out a shuddering breath. He is barely sixteen, yet he carries the maturity of a man decades older than himself. Yoda has always marveled at this quality. There are times, however, when Yan truly acts his age. Right now, Yan is hesitant. Afraid.

The ancient master takes no pleasure in Yan's fear, but he appreciates it. The boy is still afraid of the darkness, and Yoda hopes he always will be.

"I know," Yan says. "That's why Makashi can counter it. It doesn't rely on emotion. It's cold, methodical, and deadly… just like the darkness."

Yoda simply does not agree. "Sprout from emotion, darkness does." Yan opens his mouth, probably to press his point, but Yoda doesn't let him. "Thrive on emotion… light does."

And now Yan is gaping at him, or at least the slight opening of his mouth (very obviously in disbelief) is equal to a jaw-dropping gape on any other human being. Yoda glances at his tea to gauge its readiness, and smiles. "Lived many seasons, I have, and seen much. Learned, I have, that emotions drive all beings. Darkness and light, defined by emotions they are."

"But, but… the Code…" Yan stammers, back to being a _normal_ teenager.

"No emotion, but peace? No passion, but serenity? Taking it literally, you are. Surprised by this, I am."

At this, his padawan bristles a little. "How else am I supposed to take it?"

Yoda sighs and shrugs. "Vague, our Code is, hm? Wonder I do, if darkness lives because our code does not allow us to live in the light. Passionate, you are, about justice and truth, honor and civility. I have come to learn that a good thing, this is. Feed this passion, you should." His boy blinks, stunned or put off, Yoda can't tell. No matter. "If pursue Makashi, you will, then infuse it with this kind of passion, you should, hm?"

Yan finally seems to regain his voice as well as his composure. "Makashi is _not_ passionate, master. I like it because it is _controlled_; this darkness will feed off passion. You can't possibly mean to counter it with something as… as… _base_ as emotion!"

Well. An outburst. How… predictable. Yoda crushes a few more herbs and deigns to wait a couple more minutes for the tea to reach his desired level of flavor. Yan has forgotten about his own drink.

Yoda does not smile at this outburst, but neither does he admonish it. He is finding it to be a relief in some ways. "Afraid, you are. Passionate, you also are," he calmly observes, waiting for the rebuttal.

Yan surprises him. "Yes," he stammers, voice losing its cutting edge. "I am afraid, master. This darkness _speaks_ and it's growing, and I don't have a way to defend against it…"

He is pleased that the boy has admitted to the fear he so obviously feels, but to have no defense against darkness? The ancient Jedi is baffled. "Light dispels darkness, padawan," he says. "So long as you dwell in the light, helpless the darkness will be."

Brown eyes bore into his own, simmering with frustration. "You keep telling me that, but I don't know what light is anymore! I obviously have misinterpreted the Code. These feelings that you tell me to embrace are the same feelings that I've grown up with except that I've been taught to control them…" Yan looks away, fingering the tuft at the very end of his thin braid. It's a nervous habit that Yoda has always found a bit endearing. "Everyone around me controls them. Jedi don't get angry, they don't embrace their fear. They just… _release_ it all into the Force. Master, I can't do that. I've tried and I just can't."

Yoda blinks. This is not what he expected to hear, not with this boy that he's practically raised. Yan is not emotional. He has never been emotional. Yoda's simply never seen it. Sure, his padawan has been frustrated before, angry, occasionally filled with mirth. For the most part, though, Yan has always been level-headed. Steady. Stoic. "Act on emotion before, you never have…" he begins, but trails off when his boy turns away with a slight huff.

"Not visibly," Yan snaps. He uses one elegant hand to gesture to his chest as he turns back. "It's all simmering in here. Sometimes it bleeds through, but it's all contained for the most part. I don't know how to release it, so it just stays inside."

The old master scowls. "Tell me, you did not." It sounds like an accusation, but through their bond, Yoda's frustration is directed more at himself than at Yan. "Trust me, you do not?"

The boy's expression instantly crumbles, but there's an understated dignity to it. Yan does not fall apart and he is _never_ reduced to tears. The only sign that Yoda's question has broken through is the barely perceptible upturn of his dark brows. A miniscule sign of distress. Yoda notices, because he knows him too well to look for anything obvious. "You're the only one I do trust, master."

"Hmph," the green Jedi grunts. The gimer stick taps the floor gently as Yoda smiles. "Afraid to display emotion, you are, for fear of rejection, hm?" Yan begins to protest, but the stick taps the floor again and he falls silent. Yoda takes a sip of his tea, murmuring his pleasure, and then looks full on into Yan's dark gaze. What he finds there is hope. He's happy that this time he can nurture it a bit. "Pursue Makashi, you will. Remain in the light, young Dooku, by driving this form with your fear. With honor. With passion. Stand, a Sith cannot, when passionate about the light, a Jedi is. Do well, you will, padawan."

Yan stares at him a moment, expression turning blank before once more clouding over into a frown. "I told you, master. Makashi is _not_ passionate. It is –"

"Perhaps," Yoda interrupts, staring intently into the youth's eyes, "it _should_ be, hm?"

Yan finally falls silent, yielding at last. The young Jedi turns away, his dark eyes coming to rest on his cooled tea. A soft sigh escapes him as he grasps the mug and turns towards their small heating element. Yoda watches in silence, and he continues to watch the boy until he disappears with his hot tea into his small room just off the common area. The Force is unexpectedly silent this time, and the old master is left alone with his thoughts and his own fast-cooling drink.

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_I know it's been a while, but I've got at least two more chapters already written, so I'll update at least the next two weeks! The writing bug is back for now. :) Thanks for your patience and please review if you can spare a few moments._


	9. Chapter 9

He practices. Constantly, his boy practices. Yoda instructs him as often as he can to the extent that he understands Makashi, but it has never been his preferred style of combat, and so he often finds himself admitting his own limitation to his padawan. Yan accepts this admission with a surprising amount of gratefulness, and he wonders if perhaps this young man is having such a difficult time learning humility because he rarely sees it displayed so openly in others.

Young Dooku is quite exceptional in his use of the 'saber. Yoda had seen his natural ability at a very young age and was never surprised to see the boy excel in the art of swordplay. Yan is elegant in the way that he wields his blade, so graceful that the loud buzzing sound that accompanies the aggression of so many others is reduced to a steady hum, a low, subtle note. He is graceful, refined, and focused to a startling degree.

Yes, Yoda is startled. Unsettled. Unnerved. Uneasy. Frightened? No. Not of this young man that he's raised. Nervous? Yes.

The Force has yet to provide clarity regarding the ever-shifting shadow that is Dooku's signature, and right now, as Yoda watches him deftly carve up yet another practice droid, that shadow is more pronounced than he's ever seen it. Its fluidity manifests itself in the smooth strokes of his boy's sapphire blade as it cuts here, then there. It feints, it flicks out with the quickness of a sand adder and coils around the boy in subtle warning. It explodes in dazzling flurries of strikes, parries, and rising slashes that leave the poor droid sparking in pieces on the floor. And when the youth is finished, breathing lightly with a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin, he turns and grins at the ancient master.

Yoda smiles back and congratulates him on another job well done, but the shadow is even present in this joyful, grinning visage of a youth that is rarely so expressive. It's in his eyes, those dark points of calculating intelligence. Yan has an understated brilliance in that head of his, something that so few recognize because he guards it so closely. His eyes shift, just like the shadow. Constantly analyzing, constantly taking in information and observations. Perfect for Makashi with all of its precise movements, deceptive feints, and fluid nuances.

Terrible for someone trying to gain, and _keep_, the boy's trust.

"Very good, you are becoming," he praises.

Yan flashes another quick grin as he manually gathers up the wreckage that he's so gracefully strewn everywhere. "Thank you. Master Dorin has been teaching me some advanced katas that he says helped train his muscles to react in certain ways. He wants me to create habits so that I can defend myself while simultaneously dissecting my opponent's own tendencies."

"Mph," Yoda grunts, acknowledging that he heard. "Good, habits are, but trust the Force do you?"

Master Dorin Lane is a character that the grandmaster would rather his padawan not associate with, but he is not going to stem the boy's interactions with those of differing philosophies. He is not yet sure whether or not it is to Yan's detriment or to his benefit that he allows this. Time will tell, but for now the youth has yet another shadow in his life. A Jedi Shadow, that is.

The Sentinels are not so known a branch as others of the Order and for good reason. The Jedi are known as peacekeepers, and to have a branch such as this known to the public would only serve to taint that reputation. Yoda has always understood the necessity of having men and women with such skills in the Order, but he has always questioned the ethical implications of the way their skills are utilized. Granted most Sentinels do fairly normal jobs, and some by surprisingly 'normal' means without the aid of the Force. Others, such as Dorin Lane, are questionably prone to sacrificing much for the good of the whole. They are aptly referred to as Shadows, walking a thin line between light and dark and, in Yoda's experienced opinion, often crossing it.

Yoda is not naïve. He knows that the Sith never truly disappeared, and the Shadows serve to pinpoint their current presence, to keep it in check, to _dissuade_ those who might join.

Dorin Lane is cut from a sharper stone. Flint-grey eyes set in a rough complexion seem to speak of the questionable acts he's done all in the name of the Force. He's always insisted that his aggressive tactics of dissuasion are for the good of the light. Never mind that had he been employed by any other organization in the known galaxy he would no doubt be deemed an assassin.

But the galaxy's resident peacekeepers would _never_ condone such brutal acts. They would _never_ send out assassins to meet their desired ends.

Unfortunately, Yoda muses as Yan transfers the bits of droid to the appropriate receptacle for recycling, his own opinion holds only a small percentage of sway among the entire council. He knows that his 'vaunted' wisdom is well-respected, but times are getting swiftly darker and some of the younger generations – well, young by _his_ standards – are growing desperate.

Hence, characters like Dorin Lane are allowed to… _dissuade._

Sighing, he taps his stick in a small show of frustration. Sometimes he just feels helpless. Yan finishes cleaning up and walks back over to where Yoda is standing, close to the door of the small training room. "I suppose I am to receive yet another long lecture on the merits of 'trusting the Force' while trying to subdue a Sith?"

It has taken a few weeks for Yoda to get used to hearing that word spoken so openly. If only his young padawan knew to what sort of brutality he was referring. "Unimportant, simple merits are. Necessity, it is, hm?" he says.

Yan's smile flattens a bit as he moves to open the door. "Master, we've talked about this before. It's the same Force for both Sith and Jedi, right? So what is the _necessity_ of me trusting in something that is capable of evil?"

A spark of irritation flashes in that same Force for an instant, causing Yan to flinch. Yoda makes no apology for it. "Evil, the Force is _not_. Know this I do."

And curse this child's blasted _pride_, for Yan pivots to stare directly at him, his own irritation a threatening rumble that's both steady and tinged with unleashed power. "With _respect_, master," he begins in a surprisingly calm voice, "How? How do you _know_?"

This time the stick does not tap the floor or try to imbed itself into the youth's insolent shins; instead, slivers of an unidentified wood begin to fleck and spit off to the side as Yoda blatantly redirects his frustration into a nonliving object. He's grinding it _into_ the floor. "How does Yoda _know_?" he repeats, deferring to third-person. "Know, he does, that the Force gives life. Feel it, he does. Submit to it, he _must_. See it restore and heal, he has. Meditate in its light, he has. Hear it sing in flowers and trees and rivers, Yoda has, and _trust _it for _centuries_, I _will_." He breaks off, huffs, and looks away. "Light, it is, young Dooku. See this, you must." _Please_, he silently begs, turning desperate green eyes back to his young protégé. For all of his 'vaunted' wisdom he is simply unable to _make_ Yan see this truth. He must come to it himself, but it is oh so painful to watch him turn away from it time and again.

And again he does. There is a definite flash of hurt in those dark eyes in the face of Yoda's desperation, but Yan is unwavering in his conviction. If nothing else, Yoda can certainly commend him for standing firm, even if it is in error. "I'm sorry, master, I just don't see it," he says quietly, irritation melting away to reveal a hard interior. Solid. Immovable. "It's not that I don't believe in light and dark. But master… it just… _logically_, there's no way that they are both defined by the same Force. It can't simultaneously drive both good _and_ evil. It just doesn't work…"

"Teach you this, Master Dorin has?" Yoda asks, his tone growing unmistakably colder than usual. He can't help it.

Yan blinks. "No."

Yoda blinks. Suddenly it's not just his voice that's gone cold. "No?" he echoes in disbelief.

His boy sighs, again sounding older than his few years. He's lived for so short a time, yet he speaks with a far greater weight to his words. "This is what I see for myself. Light is good. I will not argue that, but I just don't think it's found in the Force. Other beings can be considered light, but they can't even touch the Force. Light and dark aren't found in the Force, master. They're found in character, in choices, in _belief._" Yan shrugs then. If sighs imply old age, then shrugs like these imply youthful simplicity. "You told me once, when I first said I wanted to study Makashi, that emotions drive all beings. That they even drive the light and the dark, right?"

Yoda is unable to speak; his mouth has gone dry, but he nods, easily remembering the conversation. It was so similar to this one in so many ways, yet so different. He had thought he had planted a seed when it seems that he had only watered an already festering weed.

Yan tries a smile, an echo of his previous, shadowed grin. "Then maybe we should be looking at the actual people? At their desires? Their principles? You told me to be passionate, master. I think I can do that… but if it's not because I trust in the Force… if it's because I'm passionate about a cause, and I _use_ the Force to achieve it… can you be okay with that? _Will _you?"

He's heard this sort of talk before, from some of the Lost before they left. Funny how they refer to them as the 'Lost' when only a few of them actually turned dark… is it truly a shadow? Yoda has studied Yan's shifting, subtle, shady signature for years, but now he's not so sure that he has it figured. There have been enough Jedi in the past, a good percentage of the Lost included, that have held to such a view and stayed true to the Order if not in full agreement with its doctrines… there have been enough to perhaps reconsider the nature of these individuals.

"Master?"

And now Yan's eyes are pleading, hoping for an answer that Yoda does not want to give, _cannot_ give. The Force is so much _more_ than a tool for mundane _use_. "Okay with it, I cannot be," he says quietly, knowing just how much it _hurts_ his boy to hear those words. "But chase you, I always will." _And always love you, I will._ But just as he cannot condone what Yan has said, he cannot say what Yan so desperately needs to hear.

This time the smile is sad and tinged with bitterness, but Yan still nods in understanding. "I know." It's said as if he'd been anticipating such an answer but still hoping for something different. "I'm not dark, you know," he continues. Against all odds, there's a spark of humor twinkling in his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, oh wise one."

Teasing now? It's so out of place that Yoda is caught between a frown and a reflexive smile. "Do you?"

Yan nods again. "Of course. You've been thinking it for _years_… and don't even pretend like you're surprised that I know."

Yoda is sincerely frowning now. "Padawan…"

His boy smirks, knowing how miffed he must be if he's calling him _that_. "I'm different. I don't readily accept the Order's traditional teachings; in fact, I outright question them, and so I'm not quite light. On the flip side, you _know_ there's not necessarily something _sinister_ lurking within me. I haven't quite shown a propensity for what is considered truly irredeemable and so how can you call me 'dark'?" He pauses, growing serious again. "And so I'm something undefinable. A shadow, floating around aimlessly. I somehow seem to be both light and dark at the same time, but you don't know quite what to do with that do you? Tell me, master, where do I belong if not with the light or the dark?"

How could he possibly _know_? Yan has always been brilliant, a thinker of thinkers, but Yoda never thought he would ever be so easily read by a teenage boy, albeit one on the cusp of adulthood. It's humbling, as if he's just been laid bare, stripped against his will. "Dark, you are not…" he agrees, not sure where to go from there. Yan is right. He has been puzzling over this for years and he still has no answer.

"But not quite light," Yan finishes with a gentle smile. He glances away, through the open door that neither of them have ventured through yet. "I've heard it said that the brightest lights cast the darkest shadows… maybe that means that the lighter you are, the greater potential you have for darkness?" At this he catches Yoda's gaze again. "I guess if I'm already dimmer than most, a slight shadow here and there won't be so worrisome?"

"Reassuring, that is not, my boy," he mutters. "But much to think about you have given me."

The younger of the two of them finally dares to cross the threshold into the hallway that will take them 'home'. "Don't count me among the Lost yet, master."

"Dark, you are _not_," he mutters once more, attempting to reassure them both, but his attempt falls flat when Yan glances over his shoulder.

"Neither were some of them."

* * *

_Please review if you can spare a minute! :)_


	10. Chapter 10

Yoda feels the rumble before the storm is upon him. It grows stronger as it nears, beginning as a faint tingle and growing into a deafening roar before it breaks into the small living space. Thunder doesn't crash and lightning doesn't zap him from existence, but the Force is growling dangerously and Yan's eyes are spitting fire.

It's as strong a storm as Yoda's ever seen. "Quiet yourself, padawan," he says, not bothering to stand. He coolly regards the young man from his spot on the floor, wondering what could possibly have him this worked up at such an early hour.

Yan's eyes flick to his, but it seems that his steady gaze still has some power over the unruly youth, for he immediately lets out a long – and uncharacteristically _loud_ – sigh. The boy nods, visibly pulling himself together. Then he stalks into their small kitchen, leaving a trail of simmering annoyance in his wake.

Yoda lets the prickly sensation roll over him and sighs. Ever since Yan's confession two years ago, he has stopped trying to convince the youth to meditate. Yan no longer believes in light and dark the way that any other Jedi does and so Yoda cannot teach him the way that he has so many others. He has yet to figure out how to instruct him, and he feels as though he's floundering for the first time in a long time.

"We need to talk." His padawan has reemerged, it seems.

It is a demand, sure, but Yoda still recognizes the slight undercurrent of submission. Yan is still asking for permission, still recognizing Yoda's authority, even if his words are clearly out of line. Grasping for any kind of traction, Yoda lets the blatant offense slide and nods. He waves a wrinkled hand to the open floor, inviting his padawan to sit and say his piece.

There is no hesitation as his boy walks forward, almost leisurely, and gracefully lowers himself to sit a few feet away. They stare at one another for a few moments before Yoda grunts. "Find sustenance in the kitchen, did you?"

"The day sustenance is found in our kitchen is the day the senate gives up their power," Yan spits, though there is an amused lilt to the refined tone. "Our culinary skills are lacking, master."

"_Your _culinary skills, lacking they are," Yoda returns, daring to smile a little. "Refuse to eat my food, you do."

"For good reason. My young body can't handle whatever it is you put in your creations. As you constantly remind me, centuries of living brings forth wisdom born from experience, but it obviously does not bring forth superior wisdom regarding the art of cooking. I can't cook because I can't. _You_ combine cultural delicacies that shouldn't be combined." He pauses, his dark eyes growing thoughtful and more focused. "Perhaps old age loses the comforts of simplicity."

Yoda's smile almost blossoms into a full-fledged grin until he realizes that cooking is no longer the subject of their deliberation. Even so, he still allows himself to smile a little. Yan has become bolder in his arguments and queries since Yoda made it clear that he would continue to teach him regardless of his personal beliefs. It's a refreshing change that he is still getting used to, and the rest of the Council would probably tan his wrinkly green hide if they found out he was allowing it to continue.

"Simple, your way is not, young Dooku," he gently counters. "Seek the challenges of complexity and grow bored with simplicity, you do."

The teenager frowns, considering. "Just because my 'way' is different does not mean that it is complicated."

"Complicated, beings are. Simple, the Force is."

Dooku huffs, growing agitated again. "Perhaps _simple_ is the wrong word, though I will admit that it describes the Force perfectly. Tools are always simple. The way they are used is not."

This shot is no different than all of the others and Yoda feels its sting just as strongly. His smile falters and he looks away. It is not his intention to engage in a heated debate on the nature of the Force. Not this time. "Enough," he grinds out, speaking to himself as much as to Yan. "Angry, you were." He lets the observation hang, knowing the boy will elaborate.

Yan seems slightly subdued at the sudden admonishment, but he does not disappoint. "With your permission, I would no longer like to train with Master Lane."

This both surprises and pleases Yoda. "Why not?"

"He should not be a Jedi, master," Yan quietly replies, picking invisible lint off of his loose trousers. Yoda notices a black streak and tear close to where his fingers are searching for lint. If he looks closely, he can just make out the slightest tinge of red.

His eyes narrow. "Cut, you are."

Yan meets his gaze, but refuses to say anything.

"A serious statement, you have made. Serve the Light, Master Lane does."

The corners of Yan's mouth lift as does a single brow. "The same Force, you mean. Master Lane is not a good man. He does not have a moral purpose. People are pawns to him and his position in the Order lets him eliminate and manipulate them as he pleases."

"Agree, I do." Yan blinks at this pronouncement, apparently surprised. Yoda continues without mentioning it. "Tell me, my boy… a good man are you?"

Yoda expects this question to result in at least a few minutes of musing on Yan's part, but the boy does not hesitate in answering. "No." It is Yoda's turn to blink in surprise, and it is Yan's turn to continue on without acknowledging it. "No, I'm not. Good men always choose the right thing. They always choose to do good, and I don't always do that. I'm too… selfish."

It is so completely like his boy to take a conversation and turn it into something far _heavier_ than it was ever intended to be. This one started out in deep water, but now Yoda knows that if he missteps even once, he'll be drowning. They're in deeper than they've ever been, into the blackest depths that any ocean has to offer, and Yoda just _knows_ that somewhere in here, in the vast unknown, lies the answer to what's troubling his padawan.

It is also completely in character that Yan sees fit to get so close and then stop.

"Perhaps too hard on yourself and others, you are. Seen many things and met many people, I have," Yoda says. "Blurred, the line between good and evil is. Fail sometimes, good men do."

This one does make Yan think for a bit, but he doesn't seem to be trying to figure out _what_ to say, but _how_ to say it. Finally he stops picking at his trousers and lets his hands rest in his lap. "Why is it blurry?" he asks. His voice is low. Hesitant. This is an actual question. Not rhetorical, not sarcastic, not meant to insult, but an actual question. One that Yan doesn't have an answer to, at least not an answer that he is confident in believing.

The truth. It's what Yan wants. Not in the sense of an honest answer, because Yoda has never neglected to give him that. No. Yan is after _truth_, and it is apparent that he doesn't believe that the Jedi have it. Hence his view of the Force and his boldness in asking so many introspective questions.

Questions that Yoda finds incredibly puzzling and troubling.

"Neither good nor evil, beings are," he tries, wanting to take the words back the moment they are loose. They just sound off. Not quite right. "So blurred, the line is. Follow the Light, some do, but follow it perfectly, they do not." His answer sounds jumbled, even to him, and he is growing frustrated at his own inability to communicate clearly.

And he's misstepped. He knows this because Yan is piercing him with a very pointed look, eyes glittering with an intensity that he's only started to see over the last year.

"So they try?"

It's as hesitant as the last question, but of a completely different nature. _This_ is not a question to be answered but a question meant to test him. And Yoda frankly finds himself stumped. _Do or do not, there is no try_ is suddenly an inadequate mantra. It doesn't work with this boy.

Does it still work for himself?

When he doesn't respond, Yan offers him the slightest of nods and the slightest of smiles. He is shocked that this smile and nod hold no smugness or superiority in them. Dark eyes soften and melt into something close to affection, but not quite. Yan would never let himself show or admit to such feelings, but it's _there_. Yoda sees it. He can _feel_ it over their bond. A warm, dare he say it, _bubbly_ sensation.

Humility. It's what Yoda has constantly tried to hammer into the boy, but in a surprising switch of roles, this young man, this _teenager_, has managed to gently back Yoda into a corner and _allow_ him to knock himself down a notch.

Words wash over the bond, then. Ones that Yan would never say out loud, even in the privacy of their quarters, because he deems them disrespectful. It's a testament to how far they've managed to come that he's willing to make them known.

_You're always trying to teach me, master. Even after centuries of living and meeting and experiencing and observing… can you still learn? Can you still be wrong?_

He thought he could. He always told himself that he could, but did he ever do it? He wants to say that yes, he did, and it's true. But not in matters like this. He thought he had the nature of men, of most beings, figured out. It's why Jedi come to him in matters concerning the heart, the soul, the mind. Because he _knows_ things. Because he supposedly knows the _truth_.

If he really did know these things so well, then he surely wouldn't be sputtering and struggling as much as he is right now. He meets his boy's steady gaze, green eyes rising to meet brown, and offers a shaky smile. Shaky because he's rattled. A smile because he's willing. "Yes, my boy. I can."

Yan holds the gaze for just a few more seconds before looking off to the side, swallowing a little, and then taking a breath. "It seems like people _try_ to be good. They have to learn to be good and be taught how to be good." He pauses, looking back. "They don't have to try so hard to be evil. It just... happens."

There's longing in the boy's eyes that makes Yoda's gut clench painfully. It's a hopeless look directed at him, and the ancient Jedi doesn't know if he's up for the task. All he remembers are raging tantrums, haughty remarks, and his gimer stick meeting the boy's shins over and over again. Last ditch efforts to physically knock some sense into him. Yan hasn't been any different than any of the other padawans Yoda has taught over the years.

_It just happens_.

"It's blurry because we're blind, I think. I don't think it's supposed to be blurry."

Yan's voice breaks him from his despairing thoughts and he stares intently at the youth. "Good, am I?"

A shake of the head. A soft, almost shy smile. "No, master, you're not."

Yoda nods, accepting this. He's had far too many brushes with the Dark to deny it. "But stay with me, you do."

"I trust you."

It's a heavy burden, having someone's trust. Yoda is both warmed and terrified by the words. "Why?"

That piercing gaze, so full of longing and desperation, glints with a sudden flare of hope. Yan offers him a genuine smile, one that makes him look far less dignified and more like the teenager that he still is. "You try harder than most."

Yoda doesn't cry often, but when Yan rises to his feet and heads for the kitchen again, tossing over his shoulder a quick "I'm making tea", he feels a couple of tears break free.

* * *

_Wanted: feedback. Needed: nothing. _

_I just hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am. I'm starting to really like Dooku's character and am actually toying with a couple of other ideas for him. Not sure if they'll go anywhere, but ya never know. :)_


	11. Chapter 11

He is twenty when he informs Yoda that he wants to be a Sentinel.

They are on Stewjon, strolling through the fruit markets looking for something called a Jogan. "I was at a Senate hearing in one of the guest pods," he is saying in response to Yoda's question – _Use them at the Temple, the cooks do?_ "They used them as table decorations for the most part, but I was talking to a Senator from the Outer Rim about a trade agreement he was pushing for and he had them at his table. They had them sliced up and he let me try one and they were so rich and juicy and not what I was expecting at all…"

Yan rambles on for another few minutes until he notices that Yoda is watching him with a bemused expression. The flood of words stops and he smirks instead. "I wanted you to try one, but it doesn't look like they have any today."

Yoda huffs. "Tried them I have. Too sweet they are, and leave a foul taste they do."

"You just don't like fruit."

He stops, glaring up at his towering padawan. "Good in cakes they are."

Yan chuckles. "Of course. Once they are drowned in a sickening mixture of dry batter, your precious gnute water, and some sort of sugary crumble that for some reason has to be lightly _charred _before it is worthy to be added to whatever dessert you happen to be making. The good Senator also informed me about Jogan cake." He pauses to give Yoda a very pointed look. "I don't think that you and he are speaking of the same cake."

Yoda dismisses this observation with a tap of his stick and a short grunt. "From the Outer Rim he is. Like my cakes he would."

Yan laughs and they continue to walk and search for the velvet-colored fruit that simply isn't being sold that day. They even stop to ask a couple of the vendors, one of whom tries to sell them a good sized bag of his own crop. Yoda refuses, but Yan offers the man a couple of credits for three of his fruits. When Yoda raises a brow in question, Yan only shrugs. "He was nice enough."

A gentle breeze starts to play with the dust at their feet, tossing it around and then deftly shoving it into the pores of their skin and the wrinkles of their robes. Unfortunately, Yoda's skin carries no small number of wrinkles as well, and once the grit has covered him from head to toe he feels the need to either go inside or find some rocky outcrop to stand behind. "Shelter we should find," he mutters before starting forward with renewed purpose.

"You speak as if a thundering whirlwind is about to overtake us instead of a slight breeze," Yan quips. But he follows anyway, moving to walk a little to the right and behind his master. Yoda smiles, accepting the quip for what it is: a mocking distraction meant to shield the fact that Yan has just graciously placed himself right in the wind's path.

Soon the dust turns to grass and Yan quickly moves to walk beside his master once again, subtly shaking his dark robes to dislodge the grime that's settled there. "I want to become a Sentinel, master."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and when they do, Yoda stops walking. _I want to become a Sentinel._ Like Dorin Lane. Chasing the dark, studying the dark, becoming a shadow to hunt the dark, and getting so close as to possibly _touch_ the dark. No. Become a Sentinel Dooku should _not_. "No," he finds himself saying. "You cannot. You _must_ not."

Strangely enough, these words do nothing to faze the young man. "I can and I must, master," Yan gently replies. There is no bite, no venom. Just a firm declaration. "It wasn't a question."

No. It wasn't. Normally, a padawan would _ask_ to be accepted into the Order's elite branch of clandestine individuals. There are protocols to be followed for this sort of thing, recommendations to be made, tests to be administered. There was special training. Three _years_ of training. Yan would normally go before the Council, be tested for susceptibility to the Dark. They would make sure he was mentally strong, stable, and firm in his convictions.

But Yan didn't ask because he knows he doesn't have to. This young man, _his boy_, is perfectly suited to be such a person. He is studious, observant, highly skilled with a lightsaber, brilliant to a fault, stealthy when he wants to be, and droid-like in his ability to control his emotions. Except…

_He's susceptible, Jedi. You know he is. Obsessed, already clinging to a thick shadow._

Ah yes. His slimy _haunt_ is back. Yoda knows it won't go away unless it wants to, so he can do nothing but listen. And agree. He _has_ to agree.

_Yeeeesssss… because you, oh wise one, the best of all Jedi, have already fallen once. No one is safe. Not you, not your boy, not the younglings in the crèche, not –_

"Master?" That voice, slightly deeper than it used to be, but no less noble, no less serious, no less kind, breaks him from his trance. "Look at me." He does look. He looks into those dark eyes and, to his utter bewilderment, he find an _understanding_ there. Yan smiles a little. "Okay?"

No. He's not. "On safe ground, we are not," he says in answer, but he offers a smile in return. "I fear we never will be."

"No one is safe, master." His boy looks away and leans his head back, stares at the blue, half-clouded sky. "Safety isn't the goal, though, is it?"

"Asking me, are you?" he wonders, eyeing the boy-turned-man. His dark companion, whatever sort of creature it is, is silent for now. Yoda assumes it is content to simply listen to the two of them. Figure out how best to manipulate them later.

When Yan looks back down at him there's a slight twinkle in his eyes. "Yes and no. I just want to know what you think."

"No. The goal, safety is not." Yoda does not hesitate, because he not only knows that that is what Yan wants to hear, but he also knows that he himself does not believe that safety is the goal. It would only be an added bonus. "And before you ask," he continues, "different goals, we have, you and I. Truth, yours is. To follow the Light, mine is."

Yan sighs. "You sound so certain of that. What is light if not truth?"

"This conversation, we have already had. A different one, we are having now."

This gets him a smile, but just for a short half-second. "You said you would chase me. I took it as a promise."

"As you should."

"I can't promise you that I won't fall, you know."

Yoda's ears droop a little before he can stop them, and he doesn't even try to stop them. Those words hurt, no matter how true they are. "Expect you to make such a promise, I do not."

"Thank you."

Yoda sighs and looks away again, hobbling forward a few steps so that he can just _breathe._ "Beautiful, Stewjon is, is it not?"

"Yes. More so than Coruscant."

"More than many places," he agrees. "Yet linger even here, darkness does. Much darkness in the universe, there is, young Dooku."

_Thick, suffocating, smelly, nasty darkness. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…_

Yoda shivers.

Yan chuckles.

"We used to watch the sun set every night, remember?" Yoda does. "I used to love that. We should do that tonight, I think. Watch the sun set, the sky turn colors. Watch all of this beauty fade away into darkness."

Yoda snorts. "Helping, you are not."

"Stars, master. You taught me about them. You always told me that the science of stars is a fascinating thing, but the even better thing is their light. Darkness and light are two sides of the Force for you, and stars always showed you that light always wins." Yan pauses and when Yoda shuffles his feet to turn around, he finds that his boy, this _man_, is watching him intently. "Thick, suffocating, smelly, nasty darkness, master. I hear it the same as you, whatever it is. It's evil. But there's good too. And good always wins."

He heard it too… "So sure of this, you are? When always darkness, there has been."

"Of course." Yan smiles. "Why hope for anything? Why write stories where good always triumphs and evil is always left to rot? Why are children so optimistic despite the fact that their most horrible deeds _just happen_? Why, when there are no truly _good_ people in this universe, do we dare to believe that there is any chance at all?" He laughs then, shaking his head as he does so. "Why do we do what we do? Why is there joy? Happiness? Laughter? I'd like to think that it's because good always wins, you know?"

Yoda smiles. He has to; Yan's optimism is infectious, mainly because he never shows such emotion. "Hopeful, you are. Perhaps old Yoda, hope enough he does not."

Twinkling brown eyes flick down and lock him in place. "Perhaps not. Why did you stop?"

Yoda can only stare at his boy for a bit, wondering why he would dare to ask him something so loaded with history, so saturated in pain and suffering. Then he wonders why he is wondering at all. This is _Yan Dooku_, young at first glance, but almost as ancient as his master at heart. These are the only kinds of questions that he deems necessary. "Stop, I did not," he answers slowly. "Hope in the Force, I do, but seen much I have. Lost many friends, I have, and endure much pain, I still do. Seen planets die and children suffer, I have. A question, Yoda has for young Dooku." Yan says nothing, waiting patiently. "Still hope, will you, when burn out, the last sun does?"

Yan does not answer right away, but instead he moves to sit down. Once he is seated on the soft grass, he looks over at Yoda. He doesn't smile, he doesn't frown, he doesn't even stare, really. Not in the sense of _staring._ "I'm twenty years old, master," he finally says.

"Know this, I do."

"I might have a century more if I am to die naturally."

Yoda cocks his head to the side and smiles a little. He can see where Dooku is taking this. "Yes."

Yan doesn't echo the smile. His brows dip a little bit and his mouth thins. "Suns don't die in a single century, master. This is a question I won't ever have to answer."

"Or one that Dooku does not _want _to answer." When his padawan says nothing, Yoda sighs. "Rare, it is, to ask a question that you have no answer to. Stars, I was not referring to. Know this, you do."

Yan nods, conceding the point. A ripping sound, slightly dulled by the breeze, reaches Yoda's ears. Deft fingers begin to pile up loose blades of grass almost as an afterthought, but this is what his boy does. He has never been one to think in complete stillness. Meditation had never come easily (one of the _only_ things that hadn't), and Yoda has always found this fidgety trait of his somewhat endearing. "I'm not _just_ chasing the darkness, master."

Yoda blinks, but he continues to listen. Yan continues to stack grass.

"The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows. It is near to the darkest of shadows that I will find the brightest of lights."

"So chase the darkness to find your truth, you do," Yoda clarifies.

Yan lets out a short laugh. "I know it sounds preposterous, but yes. The purpose of evil is to destroy good. It only makes sense that its darkest servants would be sent to destroy the purest of the good. Goodness has a source. Of this I have no doubt."

"Yet claim, you do, that all beings are more evil than good," Yoda gently replies. "Find the purest of the good, you might, my boy. But if look for the _source_ you do, then chase the darkness you must not. Cast the darkest shadows, bright lights do. Eliminate the darkness, light does." Yan gives him a look that is bordering on confusion, or maybe reluctance. Yoda isn't sure, so he explains. "Good and evil, you speak of. Fight the servants of good, evil can. Susceptible, they still are, and tempt them, the evil ones can. But attack the source of good, they cannot."

Yoda can tell that Yan doesn't like his answer, but he can also tell that he agrees with it. And that he is surprised by it. "But you just said that you would stop hoping if the last sun burns out. How can you say that if you believe in a source of good that never dies?"

"Put words into old Yoda's mouth, you must not," he snaps, but his smile belies his tone. "Always hope, Yoda will. Asked you the question, I did, and an answer, you do not have. Believe, I do, that light is older than darkness, and stronger too. Agree with me, you do?"

"I suppose," Yan says. "From a certain point of view."

"Logical, it is, that eliminate the darkest of evils, your source of goodness would." Yoda pauses, looking away. He doesn't want to see the rebellion that his next words will spark. "Find your source by entering into the pit, you will not. But if fight the demons, you must, then very careful, you must be."

Yoda will not look at him, and so Yan lets his tension bleed over their bond. It's a gritty tightness that _squeezes_ for just a moment before disappearing. Its sudden and unexpected absence draws Yoda's gaze back against his will. Yan is looking at him with a new sort of respect in his eyes. And something else, something he hasn't ever seen on his boy.

"I hadn't considered that," he says, eyes still not wavering in their intensity. "You make sense, though. Evil wouldn't be able to stand, let alone breathe." He stops, still looking at Yoda. Still holding him by sheer force of whatever is in that gaze. "You said yes."

Yoda nods. "Support you, I will, if a Sentinel, you want to be. Good at it, you will be."

Yan cocks his head to the side, not unlike Yoda had only minutes before. A crooked smile slips across his face. "You're afraid."

_He does not fear us, troll. Why do you? Why, why, why, why, why?_

Yoda smiles. It is not a sad smile and neither is it a happy smile. Rather, it is a smile that comes from simply _knowing_. It is a smile that is glad for the opportunity. "Yes." A pause. "Fallen, I have. Only once, and not for long. Enough, it was."

Yan's smile fades and he looks away. "I am not afraid, master."

"Then foolish, you are."

"Why?"

And there are the flashing eyes and the slightest of tremors in the Force. Yoda knows it will go no further. Yan is nothing if not _controlled_, but it is still there. "Why?" Yoda dares to chuckle a little in the face of such anger. "Much to learn, you still have. Young, you are."

"But fear leads to anger, and anger leads to hate, and hate –"

"Yes, yes. Speak of that fear, I do not. Fear of uncertainty, foolish it is. Fear of the darkness, smart it is. Respect your enemy, you should."

"An old platitude."

"Platitude, it is _not_. Truth, it is." Yoda narrows his eyes. "And very fond of truth, you are, my boy. Be selective, you should not."

Yan settles down and nods. "I will be _cautious_, master. With all due respect, however, evil does not deserve to be feared. Not when it is destined for defeat."

"Know the Force, I do," Yoda counters. "Know your source of good, you do not. When know it, you do, then fear, you may release. Lost, you currently are. Still searching. A strong weapon, fear can be, until need it, you no longer do. Wield it well, you should."

Yan looks at him for a moment. "I'll… keep that in mind."

Yoda smirks, something he doesn't do often. It's a puckered, almost sour expression that sometimes scares younglings and makes fellow masters uneasy. In this man's presence, though, he has learned that smirks and grins, deep chuckles and loud snorts, even sudden anger and open sadness are always welcome. "A good start, that is," he says. Old joints pop and snap in protest as he uses his stick to help himself stand, having sat down next to his padawan at some point. "Now, enough of this discussion, I have had. Eat your fruit and watch the sunset, we will."

There are a few more pops as Yan moves to stand. "Yes, master."

He is looking at Yoda with that unfamiliar glint in his eyes again, and Yoda finally yields to his curiosity. "Giving me a strange look, you are."

"Am I not allowed to give the great Master Yoda strange looks?" Yan inquires with a soft chuckle.

Yoda raises a brow at his boy's impertinence. "Seen many strange looks, I have. Different, this one is…" he trails off in sudden realization. "Unfamiliar. A better word, that is."

Yan's cheeks redden slightly, as if he knows that Yoda has him figured.

"Embarrassed, you should not be," he says with a gentle smile. "Said I would always chase you, I did."

Yan swallows, as close to genuine _emotion_ as Yoda's ever seen him. "Yes, but I sometimes don't understand why. Every Jedi is a child that their parents didn't love enough to keep. You can't. You _shouldn't._"

"Nonsense, that is. Love all children, Yoda does. Ran into me, toothless, you did. Do that, many children do not." He pauses, still holding Yan in his gaze. "A tiny shadow, you were then, and understand why you were so happy, I did not. Very serious, you have become, but always carry joy with you, you do."

"Master –"

"Much sadness, you have brought me," he continues, not willing to be interrupted, "and much joy. But even if you never gave anything in return, still love you, I would. Change that, your foolish protests will _not_."

_Fool! Love will go nowhere! You will still lose him! He's mine, mine, mine…_

"No." Yoda is trembling, whether from the cold danger in that voice or from the fact that he just blatantly admitted to breaking the Code, he's not sure. "Never yours, he will be."

Yan's eyes, intently focused on him, are growing wet. Tears don't fall, and they probably won't, but that's not the point. He has always been a wandering child, searching, despairing, hoping, and longing. If Yoda can be a rock, an anchor for him, then he will. "Always chase you, I will, young Dooku. Meet you in the darkness, I will, and be your light, if I must."

"And if I fall? Will you still love me then?" It's a weak challenge, really. Yan knows him too well to ask such ridiculous questions.

Yoda chuckles, lightly whacking his shins. "Ask that of me, you should not. Know the answer, you already do. When you fall, catch you I will."

"You're the only one."

"Only one master, does a padawan need." _Only one father, does a son need. Just one_. Yoda whispers the words over the bond, a secret that only the two of them will ever know.

Yan's tears never fall and Yoda always deigns to forget how close the boy – _man_ – came. Embarrassment does not look good on Yan and the man doesn't handle it well, so Yoda will not bring it up. It is the first and last conversation about their relationship that they ever have, and both of them are okay with that.

One is enough.

"The sky's beginning to turn, master." Yan starts towards a taller hill where they will have a good view.

Yoda smiles, hobbling along behind him. "Coming, I am."

_So it begins, old one. No more warnings._

The sky catches fire soon after, blazing orange, yellow, and pink. They watch in companionable silence until it slowly burns down into a deep violet blue and then, finally, into black.

* * *

_Please review! Thanks for reading! :)_


	12. Chapter 12

Two years later, Yan is knighted and busy. Always busy. Yoda is back to teaching more classes and handling more diplomatic conflicts – back to being the Grandmaster of the Order - and rarely does he see his old padawan but in passing. To his amusement, Yan typically acknowledges him with either a wink, a smirk, or a bland expression belied by twinkling eyes. The young man will forever be subtle, sarcastic, and coolly contained, and Yoda wishes that he will never change.

Except one day he does.

Yan had been fulfilling the duties of a Sentinel for barely seven months, mostly research with the occasional mission, and today is one of the rare days that their paths cross. Yoda is moving along at his normal pace, gimer stick clacking and feet shuffling, when Yan glides around a corner. His robes are billowing in an almost frenzied manner and his gait almost seems rushed. Yan has never been one to miss anything, and so Yoda is shocked when the knight neglects to even flick a finger in his direction. The little Jedi stops and openly watches Yan stride past him without so much as a glance. A quick flick of his eyes to the chrono on the wall and Yoda confirms that he still has almost an hour before his presence is actually required somewhere.

It isn't hard to follow his former padawan. With their bond hardly changed after the knighting ceremony, Yoda can easily pick up traces of Yan's presence, not to mention the prickly tension that seems to be floating in the air. He ends up at the entrance to the Archives and steps inside just in time to see Jocasta leading Yan down one of the long, packed shelves in the dustier more ancient section of the spacious library. Yoda, in no particular rush, hobbles in their direction. He finds them towards the end of the towering shelf. Jocasta's brows are beetled together and her bony finger is wagging barely an inch away from Yan's face, and Yoda can only chuckle as he meanders towards them.

"… are just asking for trouble, young man, and don't you dare tell me different or make some sly, philosophical argument with that extensive vocabulary of yours. You will find that my own vocabulary is hardly lacking."

"With respect, Master Nu," Yan begins (and he truly does have respect for the woman), "I am no longer a padawan, and this section is not restricted to knights."

"I am well aware of the restrictions on the contents of _my_ collection, Knight Dooku," the Keeper of the Archives retorts, thin gray brows only dipping steeper in irritation. "Your status is not my concern, but your well-being is. Do not be so ignorant to think that a simple promotion suddenly makes you wiser and more capable of withstanding the temptations that these sorts of searches provoke."

Yan's eyes darken a touch – Yoda is close enough to see them now and it is an unfamiliar sight – as he huffs. "I will be careful, master." His eyes flick in Yoda's direction, an indication that his presence has finally been noticed. "I am not wholly unfamiliar with the deceptive nature of the dark."

Yoda shivers, understanding the reference perfectly. A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Jocasta Nu follows Yan's glance and makes no effort to hide her own deepening frown. "Master Yoda, perhaps you can convince this rash young man to withdraw from his reckless attempts to find such wicked artifacts. Sentinel he may be, but he is far too young to be engaging in these sorts of… quests."

Normally, Yoda would rebuke a young Knight for disregarding the wisdom of the old Keeper, but in this case he makes an exception. He nods. "Speak with him, I will."

Jocasta seems to accept this as an affirmation that he is going to talk Yan out of whatever foolish search he is embarking on. The old Jedi gives Yan one last, shrewd look before brushing past them both and disappearing down another aisle.

Yan's dark eyes lose their shadowy hue and return to normal as he fixes Yoda in his sights. "Does she know that you didn't actually agree to bolster her position?"

Yoda's suddenly dour mood lightens just a touch. "Know me too well, you do."

"You just can't hide anything from me is all," his boy retorts, a slight smile providing a glimmer of amusement.

"And hide from me, you cannot," Yoda retorts. "Seeking dark artifacts, you are."

The smile disappears and Yan's eyes narrow. "Have you been following my research?"

It's backed by a slight twinge in the Force that causes Yoda to visibly wince. "Been keeping tabs on you, I have not, young Dooku. Many centuries old, I am, and been a Jedi for many lifetimes, I have. Know what the darkest corners of these Archives hide, I do, including this one." He resists the urge to send a non-verbal swat in the man's direction and only watches him instead.

Yan glances away, takes a deep breath, and then returns his stare. "Forgive me." Yoda's silent nod is answer enough. "Yes, I am searching for a Sith artifact. There are rumors in the uglier parts of Coruscant that there is a planet that may contain an ancient stronghold…" he trails off, reaching for a thin, dusty volume to his left.

Yoda makes no move to stop him, having long ago resigned himself to the fact that this particular child would always be drawn to the shadows regardless of his futile attempts to hold him back. He will let his boy search for as long as he has to. "Sometimes these artifacts, darker than an actual Sith they can be. Stronger voices, they can have."

The volume is now clenched in an elegant, strong-fingered hand, but Yan glances up sharply at the last words. "Stronger than the last ones?"

"Louder? No." Yoda catches the title on the book's spine, smiles sadly, and softly taps his gimer stick once on the smooth floor. "Softer, smoother, kinder voices. Stronger, the pull is. Resist them, you must."

Dark eyes hold his for a long moment before dropping to scan the cover of the book. "You're always warning me of the danger, master. Perhaps you should give me some advice on how to face it."

At this, Yoda smiles. "Given you this advice, I already have. Listened, you have not."

Dust bursts into a milky cloud as the cover creaks open. The knight's eyes begin to darken once again as he quickly surveys the first few pages. "Darkness does not deserve to be feared. Of this I am certain."

"A fool, I have called you once. Need to do it twice, I should not have to," Yoda says, his voice growing lower and more gravelly. "If fear these artifacts, you do not, then search a brighter corner, you should. Find your source, you must."

Behind the dust and the pages there is a glint of rebellion in Yan's eyes. "What does a shadow have to fear from darker shadows? Master Nu is wrong, master, and you know it. I may be a newly appointed knight, but I am not ignorant of the cunning ways of evil. I am not what you might call a _normal _Jedi."

"Make you any less vulnerable this does not," Yoda returns. "Told you, I did, that it is light that destroys darkness. Good that destroys evil. And told me, you did, that a good man, you are not." Yan's eyes freeze in their scanning. "Mistaken, you are, about what you seek."

The book snaps shut, the dust cloud dissipates, and Yoda is left staring into a proud, unsettled gaze.

"Never cease to be a shadow, you will, if find your source of light, you do not. Perhaps nothing to fear from a darker shadow, you have. But seek a darker shadow, you do not." Yoda gave the book a pointed glance. "Seek the shadow's source, you do. The black darkness. A difference, there is. A shadow, that is not."

Yan returns the book to its proper place. Yoda tries to be subtle, but his sigh of relief does not go unnoticed. Yan smiles at him. "Very well, master." His eyes scan the book spines one last time out of simple curiosity and then he pivots smoothly and steps past the smaller Jedi. "For not trying to convince me to desist in this search, you have done a fine job of ensuring that outcome."

There is not even a hint of irritation in his voice nor over the bond and Yoda makes no effort to hide his pleased expression. "Convince you, I did not. An old discussion, this was, and nothing you have not heard before. Perhaps realize that the surest way to defeat evil is to be firmly rooted in good, you finally have."

Yan turns, quirks a brow, and then waits as Yoda shuffles towards him. Once they are next to each other, they begin to meander back towards Jocasta's desk. "I suppose I can be the first Sentinel in, oh I don't know… some outrageous number of years… to search for good instead of evil. Make no mistake, though. I may not go on missions, but I will not discontinue my research of the Sith."

"Ask this of you, I would not," Yoda says, smiling fondly. "Much too curious, you are, about our enemy's scheming. Prepared, we should be, and when the time comes for action, inform us you will."

Yan nods. "Of course. And one can never be too curious about their enemy, master. Ignorance and indifference never lead to a favorable, nor _blissful_, outcome." They near Jocasta's desk and the woman watches them warily as they approach. "Master Nu," Yan begins, his noble features softening into a charming grin. Yoda hums in disapproval, but this only serves to widen the grin. "My old master has cleverly dissuaded me from spending the next few days in the darker recesses of your Archives, so could you be so kind as to point me in the direction of your best and brightest collections?"

Both of the older Jedi share an exasperated look. Jocasta shifts her attention back to the newly appointed knight and fixes him in a withering look that could have melted Hoth to its core. This time it serves to strip Yan of all charm and send him stumbling back a step. "You, young Dooku, are treading dangerously close to the limits of my patience," she says quietly. "I will show you to my 'best and brightest collections' in approximately two hours. Until such time arrives…" Keeping her steely gaze steady on Yan, she reaches somewhere beneath her desk and pulls out an old-fashioned feather duster. "You will return to the cold, dark recesses from which you came and remove every last speck of lint and dust that has settled there. I have not had a request for that particular section in some time. It has become quite filthy."

Yoda successfully withholds a snort of amusement and casts a quick look in his former padawan's direction. Yan appears unruffled, but neither of the two older Jedi miss the tightening of the jaw or the barely noticeable tinge of pink that is starting to crawl up his face. He doesn't look in Yoda's direction as he reaches forward to accept the duster. An obvious glint of mischief enters his eyes and he nods. "I would be honored, Master Nu. Though might I suggest keeping it that way? Why not let its outer appearance signify its contents? After all, the book I looked at unleashed a cloud so thick that I almost refrained from reading it at all. The grime might make for a nice deterrent for all of us Jedi too curious to keep away."

"Impertinent boy," Jocasta retorts, though her expression softens a touch. "A fat lot of good it did for you if you still opened it. Now go dust. I will find you when your time is up."

Yan's cheeks get a little pinker at the motherly tone, but he bows respectfully before striding away. Jocasta watches him until he disappears down a row of shelves and then turns her attention to Yoda. "You've done a fine job with that young man," she says, smiling a little. "But I do worry for him."

Yoda snorts. "Worry, you should not. Enough, I do, for the both of us." He glances in the direction that Yan took. "Curious and clever, young Dooku is, and strong. Stronger, I think, than most of us."

"And as such he is more vulnerable," the Keeper observes. Her gaze saddens. "The dark targets the weak, yes, but it wants the strong most of all." She pauses. "Does he hear them too?"

Yoda knows that Jocasta has never dealt with the insidious voices that have plagued the two of them over the years, but she is not ignorant of them. Though neither a warrior nor a sage, she is one of the few Jedi that Yoda is sure will never be claimed by the dark. He is more sure of this than he is of his own future, and he has always trusted her with his struggles and his joys. Yes, Jocasta knows. She, perhaps, knows Yoda better than anyone else.

So he nods. "Yes." It is all he says, because it is all that he needs to say. She gets it.

"I will look after him, Yoda. You have my word." Jocasta doesn't wait for him to say anything else before returning to her work. There is a tall pile of flimsy and no small number of datapads stacked up on her desk in tidy piles. Yoda wonders, briefly, at the amount of information swimming around inside of her head, and he feels the strong pull to ask what he's always wanted to ask.

As always, a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She continues to work, entering data, checking in returned books and datapads, pecking away at an old fashioned keyboard… but she says it anyway. She always does. "Spit it out, dear."

But he doesn't. It could bring his whole world, his entire _life_, crashing down on top of him. "Soon. A long discussion, it would be."

The long, bony fingers cease their quick, precise movements and her silver-blue eyes find his again. Despite the significant age gap between them – she is human, after all – Yoda feels like a youngling all over again. "Soon is a relative term, Master Yoda. I am human and aging rapidly. I do, however, have time for lengthy discussions."

"A busy day for me, it is," he tries. It's among his most pathetic attempts.

Jocasta nods, fingers picking up their rapid cadence once more. "For me as well, as you can see. A strange excuse, is it not? Easily justified, yet easily changed." For a moment there is only the sound of her fingers tapping away at the keys, flimsy shifting, and the soft padding of a few Jedi walking down the aisles. "Yan is searching, Yoda. He has asked the question, in his own way, and I have helped direct him without answering it for him. You, however, have ceased searching and are afraid of asking."

Yoda watches her fingers instead of her face. He again takes in the gargantuan stacks on her desk, the rows upon rows of ancient books, holocrons, datapads, and even some millennia-old scrolls. He breathes in the musty, yet comforting, scent of the old collection of knowledge, and he breathes it out. He marvels at the sheer _volume_ of information that is present here, and then he marvels at her. There is a reason he knows that she will never fall. Somewhere in this vast labyrinth of histories, philosophies, religions, sciences, facts, and fictions is the answer. Yoda knows that she's found it. Jocasta may be a Jedi, but Yoda is not so certain that she holds to quite the same philosophies that the Order teaches. She is far too content, far too joyful, and far too sorrowful to be a true Jedi.

_Your light… is it different?_ He wants to ask. He wants to know.

"Afraid of your answer, I am," he says, warming at the sight of her smile.

Jocasta casts one last, exasperated look in his direction and makes a shooing motion with one wrinkled hand. "Off with you, you stubborn little gnome. Go teach your class or hold your meeting. Go be busy."

Yoda huffs out a laugh, slightly relieved that she didn't push, but mostly disappointed. "May the Force be with you, Master Nu."

"I will be working late tonight, dear. I anticipate having a lengthy discussion with your protégé. Feel free to stop in when your busyness ends." No "And with you" is uttered, but it is as much a goodbye as it is one last push. As well as a challenge.

_I am not hiding behind my piles of flimsy or my stacks of datapads. This is on you._ Yoda leaves the Archives, the tapping of her fingers still ringing in his ears and the offer of an answer at the forefront of his thoughts.

* * *

_So... in writing Jocasta's character I have really come to like her. I feel like she is one of those minor characters that has such a rich story behind her and I might have to mess around with a short fic centered on her... hope you're still enjoying this story as much as I am! Thanks for reading and please review if you can spare a small bit of time! (I love to hear what you think of my take on certain characters and also on what I am doing well or what I can improve on) _

_Happy Easter! He is risen! :)_


	13. Chapter 13

Flames flicker in the dimly lit room and shadows dance across lowered faces. Yoda gazes mutely into the orange glow, ears drooping and soul heavy. It is the first funeral in a long while that the Order has held, and certainly the first in an even longer while for one so young. He can't help but feel as though it is only the first of many to come.

A tall, solitary shadow peels itself away from one of the columns and glides towards the exit. Yoda's gut twists uncomfortably as he sighs. His boy did not have many friends and he now has even fewer. Kya Tarlo had been of the rare sort that had instantly connected with Yan. A smart Jedi who had actively engaged in conversation with his brilliant protégé, she had also taken to playing the lyre in her spare time, and it had been the rare week that Yan was not found at least once at her side, sitting in silence as she played.

Somehow _There is no death, only the Force_ seems far too empty and emotionally inadequate, but Yoda has never needed anything else until now. He knows that Yan will find no comfort in the familiar words, but what else can he possibly say?

It had been an accident. No, not an accident. A mistake. The Order's intel had been faulty, or perhaps their source had turned traitor; either way, Kya had been sent into a situation that was beyond negotiation and bordering on war. She had been ill-prepared, caught off-guard, and killed within a day of her arrival.

Even though he knows that as the Grandmaster he should be the last one to leave, he disregards protocol – are there such formalities as _protocol_ during these tragedies? – and follows his boy into the halls. He finds Yan leaning against the wall outside of the door with his eyes closed and his hands clasped tightly behind his back. There is a rigidness to him that is unfamiliar, yet unsurprising.

"Are you here to offer me another Jedi platitude?" The words cut through the silence. Though they are softy spoken, there is nothing soft about them. Right now, Yan is entirely encased in sharp edges, poisonous barbs, and unyielding grief. It is a grief that he wields as dangerously as the blade that hangs at his hip.

Yoda takes a deep breath, lets the attack sweep through him, accepts its sting, and hums in agreement. "No, my boy. Too empty, they are."

And just like that, he's disarmed the young knight. Dark eyes blink open and flick down to rest on the shorter Jedi, surprise mixing with sorrow. Yoda is not surprised that Yan expects nothing but the usual Jedi encouragements from him. A few years ago he would have expected just the same of himself. "What else can you possibly offer?" the young Sentinel asks, tears threatening to break free from his bloodshot eyes.

Yoda flinches, but only from reflex. He really does not feel much of anything at the moment; he is too numbed by the emotion leaking across their bond. Too empty. Too overwhelmed. Too… lost. He's lost for words. But he still dares to meet that dark, accusing gaze and he still dares to offer one of the only things he has: himself. "Offer you an ear, I can. Offer you my time and offer you my presence, I can. Listen, I will. Many friends, I have lost. Some from disease, some from accidents, some to the darkness, others to the blade…" He pauses, drowning in his memories. Seeing far too many faces. "But outlived most, I have. Live a long time, my species does, and there are some heavy prices because of that."

Yan is silent for a long moment, just staring at Yoda as if he's just discovered a new star. Finally, he pushes off from the wall and begins to walk slowly down the hall. Yoda is not offended by the lack of response. He merely follows. When they turn down a rarely-used hallway, it is not long before they are the only two in the area. The soft clacking of his gimer stick echoes in the silence, as does the low swishing of Yan's black robes. It is a funny picture that they make, he thinks. In a building where only light is supposed to dwell they are utterly drenched in shadows. One is barely a quarter of a century old, the other would belong in a museum if his heart stopped beating. The younger is the taller, while the older is the smaller. Far smaller. Yan melts into the shadows. Yoda tries to repel them. Outsiders – and by this he means anyone else – would claim that the older is the wiser. Insiders – and by this he means himself and his boy – would only smile, share a knowing look, and respectfully disagree. Wiser in some things, yes, but Yoda is still learning and his boy has begun teaching. Regardless of the infinite contrasts that they present, there is currently one commonality between the two of them. It is captured in this moment, but there have been other moments before now, though none so _real_ and none so _obvious_.

They are both lost.

Yes, Yoda thinks. Half a smile slips onto his wrinkled face before quickly disappearing. _A very funny picture, this is._

"I had to leave. I couldn't take it anymore." Yan sounds his age.

Yoda nods. Neither of them slow down or look up from staring at the floor. "Understand, I do."

"I don't think you do."

Yoda nods again. This is familiar ground, at least. Yan claiming to be misunderstood while he is fairly certain that he at least partially understands. "Then help me, you should."

"Death happens, master."

Perhaps he truly _doesn't_ understand. Yoda frowns. "Yes."

"So why do the Jedi teach that there is no death?"

"Teach this, we do not."

A hollow laugh bounces off of empty walls, ricocheting off of marble columns and the occasional sculpture before fading away. "There is no death, only the Force, right? If you don't teach it, then how is it supposed to be encouraging? What comfort do you possibly find in that?"

"In the Force, there is comfort. When die, we do, then – "

"The Force is not a person! It cannot _comfort _me! Kya is dead, master! She is gone! There will be no more of her smiles, no more of her giggles. Her green blade will never dance again, and I will no longer have anyone to prove me wrong more than once a day. She's gone. She will never…" Yan trails off, choking on a soft sob. "Her lyre no longer has a voice, master."

They have stopped, standing still somewhere in the middle of the Temple. _It is a funny, tragic picture,_ Yoda thinks. And somehow, some way, he comes up with words that might just be right. "But still hear it, you do?"

Tear tracks reflect what little light there is in this particular corridor and Yan blinks, lifting a hand to brush them away. "I can remember it, yes."

"Know all of the mysteries surrounding life and death, I do not, young one. But know the value of memories, I do. Death, there is, but also life. Death, there cannot be, without there first being life." He stares into his boy's hollow gaze and smiles. "Never forget her, young Dooku. Her song, you must remember. A good friend, she was, and a good life she had."

Yan does not look away when he nods, smiling just a little. "Yes. It was a good life, if far too short."

It is Yoda who breaks their stillness this time, shuffling forward until they are walking side by side once more. "A short life, yes, but no less rich than those of us who live for centuries." His eyes brighten and his green ears lift for the first time in hours. "Tell me, you should, about this girl who was able to match wits with the great Yan Dooku."

The hall rings with the deep, slightly accented laughter of his boy. "Oh yes, she was clever. The last couple of years we were too busy to meet more than a few times a month, but we would talk for hours over tea. Jogan tea was her favorite – you know that fruit that you never tried? – mixed with a little bit of our special herb mix. We would talk about everything, really. A lot of the same things that you and I have talked about over the years… only she would just laugh at me instead of giving me the slightly panicked, confused looks that you usually give me."

"Hmph," Yoda grunts. "Panic, I do _not_."

Their sorrow slips away beneath another deep chuckle. "If you say so, master." Yan sighs. "I will miss her. She taught me, you know. Three months before she was killed, she taught me how to make one of those blasted instruments sing."

Yoda stops, staring up at his former padawan as if the man had grown an extra head. "Play the lyre, _you_ do?"

Yan looks a little offended. "I asked her to teach me, yes. Why is that so surprising to you?"

"Artistic, you are _not_." Yoda plants his stick into the floor, pivots smoothly, and proceeds in the direction they came from. He ignores the irritated groan that sounds behind him.

"Where are you going?"

"Back. Hurry, we must."

Yan wastes little time in catching up with him. "I do not _want _to go back. There is nothing meaningful in that ceremony." The last word drips from Yan's mouth like poison from fangs, but Yoda does not acknowledge it.

"Give it meaning, you will," he insists. There will still be a few minutes left if they hurry. _If_ being the key factor. Yoda huffs, tapping his gimer stick as Yan jerks to a halt.

"_I_ will? They won't understand anything that I try to say. Not like you do." _You try harder…_

Yoda remembers the declaration of trust that Yan made all those years ago and he almost smiles. "Speak, you will not. Sing Kya's song, you will, on her lyre. Understand _that,_ all of them will."

"You – you want me to play it for them?" Now Yan's voice is hesitant, small, less confident. But Yoda can hear the hope in it.

"No. For Kya, you will play."

Yan is silent for only a few seconds before he slowly nods, an odd half-smile flickering across his refined features. "Okay. I'll do it. For Kya."

Then they are hurrying again, Yoda shuffling as fast as he can and Yan striding just slow enough so that his old master is not left behind. When they arrive at the proper door, the taller of the two hesitates again. With a gentle smile, Yoda reaches past him. The door swings open silently, opening to a room filled with shadows brought to life by flickering flames. Some of the Jedi have already left, but there are still a good number paying their respects.

_A funny, tragic picture, this is,_ Yoda thinks. Is it true that all they have to offer a fallen sister are the same words spoken at every Jedi funeral and then a long silence?

Kya's lyre is propped up against the pyre, a solid piece of woodwork covered in intricate patterns. The orange glow of the flames catches some of the carvings, and for a moment the dark wood is lit by swirls and sharp turns of untamed fire. Yoda is mesmerized; he hadn't deigned to look at the instrument for longer than a few seconds before he had followed his protégé out. Now he is pleasantly surprised.

"She carved them herself," Yan murmurs from behind him. Then he brushes by him, the only Jedi in the room whose hood is not raised. Dozens of eyes are broken from their silent trance and heads turn in his direction. Yoda frowns, feeling the tension in the air. Nobody speaks, but the accusatory glares say enough. Yan ignores them all, his dark eyes glinting with determination and respect and no small amount of sorrow.

But there is joy there too.

Yoda lowers his hood.

The corners of Yan's mouth turn up as he smiles softly. Strong hands grasp the lyre and he lifts it, positioning it without a sound. A few Jedi begin to make their opinions known, muttering quietly as if to try and maintain a semblance of silence.

Yan Dooku closes his eyes, sighs once, and then his fingers are moving. The first note is long, drawn out, and low. It resonates through the entire room, causing everyone to still. The flames continue to flicker and crack, but their off-kilter song is overrun by a new song that is much steadier and softer on the ears. Shadows dance to a broken cadence, but Yan's fingers are dancing to something that is alive and singing.

Yoda raises his eyes to glance at Yan's face. Dark eyes flash open, the song takes a slower, sweeter turn, and Yan's slight smile tells him that, despite the loss of a dear friend, things are going to be okay.

* * *

_"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid." ~ Frederick Buechner _

_I love this quote and thought it fit this chapter so I figured I would share it. :) Leave a review if you can spare a minute!_


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